


Fall (Fast and Hard)

by stumphclub



Category: Bandom, I Brought You My Bullets You Brought Me Your Love - My Chemical Romance (Album), My Chemical Romance, Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: Addiction, Alley Sex, Blood and Violence, Bottom Frank Iero, Bottom Gerard Way, Character Death, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Floor Sex, Fluff and Smut, Frerard, Gaslighting, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Sexual Assault, Smut, Top Frank Iero, Top Gerard Way, Tour Bus Sex, Unsafe Sex, i think i covered most of it but like, im so sorry for this lol, its really rough okay so just read at your own discretion, why did i put smut at the very beginning idk :')
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 14:29:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 74,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28993716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stumphclub/pseuds/stumphclub
Summary: Bullets-Revenge era. Frank and G falling in love, touring, making questionable decisions (as usual). Battling addictions and growing together. Messy and ugly, but they have their soft moments.
Relationships: Bert McCracken/Gerard Way, Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21
Collections: Depressed 3 AM Frerard Fics, Frerard, Frerard Fics





	1. The Writing on His Neck

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ!!! This is a !!!HUGE TRIGGER WARNING!!! The content here is not for everyone. The entire plot of this fic is centred around Gerard's cocaine addiction. You will also cross topics like other drug and alcohol abuse, sexual assault, graphic smut (unrelated to the assault), graphic depictions of violence, and just generally horribly toxic/manipulative behaviour. 
> 
> I guess this is the part where I say I'm an addict. I'm over a year sober now!!! I started writing this as a way of coping. My friend Cosmic really pushed me to keep going. Some parts are personal experiences, some I made up. NONE of this is intended to romanticize drug use. It is a fucking nasty and ugly, slippery slope and I hope you read far enough in to see that. Also I'm sorry Gerberts for making Bert one of the horrible antagonists yet again, but it just fit :||
> 
> This is really terrifying to be putting out into the world so please don't be too hard on me, it's just a super tragic fic I wrote to work through some shit so if you don't like it just close the tab. Thank you for taking the time to read this long ass forewarning and, uh, enjoy?

“Do you remember?” Gerard’s voice was still fresh in Frank’s ears.

“Of course I remember,” Frank retorted, almost too quickly, “Which part specifically?”

“All of it.”

“All of it?” Frank was taken aback, “Is that even possible?”

“Guess we’ll see how much of it we can agree on.” 

Frank smiled fondly, his world at a stand-still aside from the image of Gerard’s impish grin and striking hazel eyes. “How far back are we talking?” his brows pulled close together in wonder. 

“Let’s not get caught up on semantics, Iero.”

Frank delved into their memories at once. It was easy enough to agree on how they first met - Frank was My Chemical Romance’s biggest (and, arguably, only) fanboy at the time. Their record label had connected his band with Gerard’s and having proved himself in the studio, Frank nearly fainted at the invitation to join them as their guitarist. He accepted without any qualms over dropping out of college or breaking up Pencey Prep. 

“We grew so close that first tour,” Frank pictured himself and Gerard slowly invading each other’s stage space more with each passing night of screaming guitars.

“Even closer after the fact,” Gerard prompted him. 

“A blessing and a curse,” Frank smiled nostalgically. 

\--

Five 20-something-year-old men staggered out of a tiny van they had used to skirt around America, but they were all grinning, laughing, and slapping each other on the backs. One would assume being crammed next to a fuckton of gear and four other guys for so long would have them tense and itching to be home but for Gerard, touring meant that he always had somewhere to sleep. They were all in high spirits, still reeling off of the energy and good fortune the recent tour had dropped in their laps. 

“That was a great run, guys,” Ray said approvingly, all smiles. 

“I can  _ not  _ wait to do it again!” Frank was possibly the giddiest of them all, a hyper 20 year old who was quite literally living his dream. He jumped and punched the air, slinging an arm around Gerard and shaking him. 

“Whoa, pal,” Gerard just laughed, returning the gesture by wrapping his left arm around Frank’s back and giving him a squeeze, “Settle down, there.”

Frank just beamed, exclaiming, “I can’t! I  _ won’t!  _ Celebration drinks at my place!” to a chorus of hollers and cheers.

\--

“We got so drunk that night,” Frank reminisced with a chuckle.

“ _ So  _ drunk,” Gerard agreed, amused. 

\--

Frank pictured Ray and Matt absolutely smashed and attempting to play beer pong but inevitably getting distracted by their working theory of how lizard people would disguise themselves to successfully infiltrate the US government. Mikey got too drunk too fast and ended up puking before falling asleep on the couch upstairs while the others partied on in the nearly soundproof basement. Frank’s mom was some sort of saint for putting up with their antics. 

Frank was sitting with Gerard on the couch in the basement, Gerard’s legs resting over top of his while he absentmindedly played with Gerard’s charcoal hair. “So, you gonna stay here a while?” Frank asked, his eyes big and glassy from the liquor. 

The closer the tour had gotten to ending, the more anxious Gerard had become, the more he drank before each show to calm his nerves. Eventually Frank pulled him aside and demanded to know what the issue was, with Gerard consequently breaking down and shuddering for breath while enveloped in Frank’s arms. He went on to explain that he had been living on campus and had also dropped out of art school in order to tour. He hadn’t admitted to his parents that he had nothing set up for when he returned home, leaving himself no option but to couch hop once the tour was over. Frank resolved right then to support Gerard however he could, only bringing on more tears from the pale man that was clinging to him.

“I would be so grateful,” Gerard said earnestly, searching Frank’s eyes for confirmation that he hadn’t made empty promises of shelter during the tour, and that he was still sincere now. His hand subconsciously found Frank’s, intertwining their fingers and resting his temple against their knuckles. He looked down; his head was swimming and his cheeks were warm.

“Are you kidding?  _ I’m _ the lucky one,” Frank grinned, surveying at Gerard and squeezing his hand. He moved the other to Gerard’s chin, coaxing his gaze upwards. 

Gerard blushed even more upon making eye contact, Frank’s genuity palpable. He broke the connection by blinking slowly and swallowing hard. His heart was in his throat. “Shut up, you have no idea,” He said vaguely, but he was haphazardly smiling, brows furrowed in confusion as to why Frank was being so good to him despite only knowing him for such a short period of time.

Frank considered trying to convince Gerard of his own perspective but, he thought, he had all the time in the world for that. Instead he just went for it, hoping he wasn’t reading the moment wrongfully, and closed the space between them to kiss Gerard firmly but earnestly. 

Gerard flinched slightly, unexpecting, but relaxed into him though his heart was bouncing wildly around his ribcage. He kissed Frank back, a free hand resting on his chest. Frank sighed contentedly and sucked gently at Gerard’s bottom lip, tasting vodka and beer on his breath but only kissing him deeper. Gerard gripped Frank’s shirt in anticipation, but eventually released it when they parted. 

Both were blushing, giddy and somehow unnoticed by Ray and Matt. Frank bit his lip and smirked at Gerard, braving the intoxicated proposal, “You can share my bed while you stay, you don’t  _ have _ to sleep down here.”

Gerard’s cheeks burned hot at the suggestion, but he let his hand slide down Frank’s chest and hook over his belt teasingly. “I will strongly consider that,” he matched Frank’s tone, grinning. 

\--

“But you slept in the basement,” Frank said pointedly, if not somewhat bitter, “The whole time, except for that night.” Even then, they’d just curled up together and passed out after a lazy, exhausted, drunken makeout session. 

“I was shy, and you were gorgeous,” Gerard admitted sheepishly, “I didn’t want to have to be drunk to be brave enough to crawl into your bed.” 

Frank bit his lip hard in consideration, refusing to let himself get choked up over the notion, “Me neither. All I ever wanted was  _ you,  _ G.” 

Gerard’s fingers were light as feathers on Frank’s cheek, as if they were a shadow instead of his clammy, bony digits. “And I, you,” His voice was so gentle, “But,  _ also _ , remember the first time you blew me?” Gerard changed the subject easily, smirking.

Frank rolled his eyes, “You can’t be serious for even a second, huh?” he laughed, but his mind began to wander selfishly at the mention.

\--

The second Bullets… tour brought more debauchery, and Frank was practically kissing Gerard’s feet each night for the crowd, grovelling on display for their entertainment. But, also, pining for an audience took minimal effort for the inexplicably smitten guitarist. 

Gerard had started drinking consistently before each show. Last tour it was because he was riddled with anxiety about his living situation, but it had quickly evolved into something that helped him face the crowd in general. He argued that it made him perform better, but eventually there was no one left to argue with, because within a couple weeks they were all pretty much always drunk. 

MCR was on a series of tour dates opening for The Used. There was no way of telling whether Bert’s consistent comments of “Dudes, that was so hot,” and, “That set was, like, 300% more homoerotic than last night’s,” was an influencer, but Gerard was feeling confident enough without Bert’s encouragement. 

A dozen or so shows into the tour, Gerard had really settled into his thrashing stage persona in accompaniment to his liquid luck, and he was feeling unstoppable. After a particularly good set, Gerard practically pulled Frank off of the stage to the closing applause, pushing him up against the nearest wall and kissing him hard and desperately without much forethought. Frank gasped and grunted in surprise, but kissed him back just as fervently, his hands gripping Gerard’s sweaty hair and the back of his shirt. Bert caught sight of them on his way to the stage and wolf-whistled in their direction, whooping. Frank dazedly broke the kiss, forgetting where he was, cheeks burning as he looked for the source of Bert’s shouts.

When he turned back to Gerard, the taller man was looking at him with intense eyes and his hands were greedily roaming Frank’s sides and hips. “Dressing room, now,” He said hungrily. Frank didn’t have to be told twice. 

They stumbled into the dressing room, alcohol making Gerard miles more confident than he was a couple months ago. “C’mere,” He slurred, pulling Frank close as they made it to the small loveseat poised in the modest room. 

Frank fell into him but immediately had his hands on Gerard’s face, reinstating the kiss. Gerard leaned into him, indulgent. He bravely licked his way past the enticing lip ring and into Frank’s mouth, eliciting a sigh from his counterpart. They kissed heavily for a while, their tongues mingling as guitars shrieked from what seemed like the other side of the dressing room wall. Frank’s hands eventually dropped from Gerard’s face, one of them going to his chest and the other to his upper thigh, testing the waters. Gerard grunted in assent and gripped at the back of Frank’s shirt. Frank’s hand made his way up Gerard’s thigh to palm at him through his pants. Gerard groaned and nipped at Frank’s lower lip, leaning into his touch.

He breathed through his nose heavily until Frank broke the connection, pressing warm kisses to Gerard’s sharp jawline. “Can I go down on you?” he murmured, his lips buzzing against the skin under Gerard’s ear and making him shudder.

“Fuck, do you have to ask?  _ Yes,”  _ Gerard practically whined. 

Frank grinned and nipped at Gerard’s neck before eagerly sliding off of the couch and situating himself on his knees in between his legs. He started working on Gerard’s belt, forcing it open. He unbuttoned his impossibly tight jeans and unzipped them, wasting no time forcing them about as far down as Gerard’s knees. “I’ve been waiting too long for this,” Frank admitted breathily as he resumed palming him through his boxers. 

Gerard bit his lip, his hand finding Frank’s hair. “You’re telling me,” he agreed, his head tilting back slightly as his mind swam with liquor and lust. 

Frank tugged Gerard’s boxers down around his thighs, spitting in his hand and stroking his length as he admired Gerard’s exposed throat. “Fucking gorgeous,” He murmured before taking him into his mouth and eagerly sinking as far as he could muster. 

Gerard inhaled sharply, his fist tightening in Frank’s hair at the sudden warmth. His eyes fluttered and it took everything in him to keep his hips from jerking. 

Frank started bobbing his head and hollowing his cheeks around Gerard’s cock, one hand digging its nails into his thigh and the other teasing his balls. 

“Oh my fucking  _ God,  _ I won’t last,” Gerard warned, tugging at Frank’s hair and rocking his hips towards the comfort of his mouth. It had been longer than he’d care to admit to anyone.

Frank smirked around him and pulled back to lick up the length, swirling his tongue around the head, and sinking back down dutifully. He didn’t give a fuck, he’d suck Gerard off until his jaw locked if that’s what he wanted. He was so enthusiastic, visibly enjoying himself. 

Gerard’s breath shuddered at the sight of Frank’s slick lips, selfishly turned on by how Frank revered him. He was soon gripping Frank’s hair with both of his hands, forgetting where they were and moaning openly as he came undone. “Fuck,  _ fuck,”  _ he gasped, his hips jerking and dick twitching as he came without warning. 

Frank’s eyes widened somewhat but he just sunk down further, letting him fill his mouth before pulling back. Gerard was halfway through apologizing before he caught sight of Frank, hair pushed in all directions as he sat back on his heels, making a point to swallow. He licked his swollen lips, grinning.

“Oh my  _ God,  _ come here  _ now,”  _ Gerard demanded needily, reaching for and pulling Frank back up to the couch to kiss him without hesitation. 

\--

“I was so greedy that night. I didn’t even get you off,” Gerard said, sounding ashamed.

“Honestly,” Frank started with a chuckle, “I didn’t care. I was obsessed with you.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he considered his younger, more energetic self with eyes only for Gerard and his nervous hands that he still had yet to grow into. 

Gerard rolled his eyes, biting his lip shyly, “Well, I was  _ obviously _ more into you than I let on.”

“Uh huh,” Frank answered, clenching his jaw momentarily, “When you weren’t distracted, anyway.” 

\--

“Have you boys ever tried  _ designer _ drugs?” Bert asked this question far too casually before a show one night. They were just over the halfway mark on their tour together. A chorus of answers came all at once. 

“Not for me,” Ray said. 

“Tried it, hated it,” Matt deadpanned.

“Eh,” Mikey was noncommittal.

“I’m good with beer,” Frank deflected. 

“Always been too poor,” Gerard blushed a little when all eyes turned to him in questioning of the fact that he didn’t shoot Bert down right away. 

Bert smirked, pleased. “Well, you don’t need money to find it on tour. I got a real good link at this stop, you interested?” Matt and Ray stood up immediately, ditching Bert and the rest of their band without even attempting to be discreet. Bert laughed and rolled his eyes, “Whatever, killjoys!” he called after them. “ _ Anyway _ , you guys in or out?” He flaunted a tiny baggie filled with rough chunks of white powder, tied off in a knot. 

“Eh,” Mikey shrugged again, sitting back to watch the mayhem unfold. 

Frank bit his lip and shook his head, his eyes finding Gerard as he nervously sipped at his beer.

Gerard’s eyes were fixed on the bag with awe and curiosity. He hesitated, unsure.

“Come  _ on,  _ one bump won’t kill you,” Bert shook the bag in Gerard’s naive face, “I know you want to.”    
“Fuck it.” Gerard finally agreed, “Let’s do it.”

“Now,  _ that’s  _ the spirit!” Bert hooted, carefully tearing open the baggie and dumping the contents onto an unused coaster. 

As Bert pulled out his wallet and selected a card already caked in residue along with a one dollar bill, Frank gently gripped Gerard’s wrist. “You know, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” he spoke timidly.

Gerard furrowed his brows, his gaze stretched between Frank and the stringy-haired man that was crushing cocaine beneath a dollar bill and then using the plastic card to cut the powder into finer pieces. “I know. I  _ want _ to,” Gerard broke his wrist from Frank’s grasp and poised his elbows on the table, resting his chin in his hands as he watched Bert divide the powder into lines. 

Bert was smirking and humming to himself, ignoring Frank’s pleas. “Yeah, you do.” He encouraged as he rolled up the dollar bill. He plugged one nostril and leaned down, snorting not one, but two lines before whipping his head back up and whooping. “ _ Finally _ , cat’s out the bag. I can be  _ myself _ ,” He rejoiced to no one in particular, passing the bill to Gerard.

Mikey scoffed and nudged Frank, muttering, “This guy’s obnoxious. I’m going to get another beer.” 

Frank nodded and watched Mikey go, yearning to follow and hating himself for being unable to pry away. He had to make sure Gerard wasn’t going to do anything too stupid. He shifted uncomfortably as Gerard hesitated one final time, watching the uncertainty drain from his eyes as he leaned down to ingest a line. 

When Gerard lifted his head, his eyes were wide, like he’d suddenly seen God - or maybe, like he thought he  _ was  _ God. He looked at Frank purposefully. “We could live  _ forever _ if you’ve got the time,” he said it as if it was the only thing he’d ever been certain of in his entire life, and everything else was a sham. 

Frank furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, but Bert just laughed maniacally. “It’s good shit, right?”

Gerard snapped out of his epiphany, grinning at Bert, “Shit, why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?” He laughed, positively giddy, and slung an arm around Bert to plant a big kiss on his cheek. 

\--

“Okay, that wasn’t my finest moment, I’ll admit,” Gerard sighed. 

“No shit, you smoked nearly an entire pack of cigarettes before our set even started, G,” Frank couldn’t help the edge in his voice. 

Gerard clicked his tongue. “If I could take it all back…” he started.

“You’re preaching to the choir.” 

\--

“For the  _ last  _ time, they are  _ not  _ boyfriends!” Frank exclaimed, his eyes immediately going wide in reaction to his own outburst. 

“Whoa, dude. It was a joke.  _ Relax _ ,” Mikey raised both hands and made the universal motion to settle down. “Did I strike a nerve?”

Frank pinched the bridge of his nose and paced back and forth in the middle of Mikey’s dressing room. They only had a handful of shows left, thank  _ God,  _ but the rumours amongst fans were starting to become unbearable. No matter how much he made a point to worship Gerard on stage, the fans continued to pop up around the internet asking if Bert and Gerard were dating. He couldn’t really blame them; it wasn’t  _ their  _ fault that Gerard and Bert had been inseparable since G’s first line. Bert had the drugs, Frank did not, and Gerard was a one track mind. He’d been performing at full throttle and even writing new songs into the wee hours of the morning, so he was obviously going to follow Bert around for more. And maybe kiss him for it. On stage. Every night. But it was just for the one song. Or, that’s what Frank told himself to ease the sharp pain in his chest. He let out a slow, calculated breath before finishing his beer. “Yeah, you could say that. I don’t wanna talk about it,” Frank deflected. Besides, how could he bear to tell Mikey that he was maybe-possibly falling in love with the guy’s brother? Not to mention the fact that all three of them were in a band together.

“Fair enough,” Mikey dismissed him, holding his hands up in defense. He raised an eyebrow in question at Frank, but didn’t push the subject any further. “Listen, I think you’re wired enough, dude. You do  _ not  _ need the shit Gerard is on right now. I didn’t wanna say this around G, or Bert, frankly,” Mikey rolled his eyes, “But I broke my arm last year and the doctor prescribed these to me,” he pulled out a bottle of pills and placed it on the coffee table Frank was pacing in front of. 

Frank stopped pacing and snorted in disbelief after getting a good look. “Perkies?  _ Really?”  _

Mikey shrugged. “Takes the edge off of  _ everything,  _ and it’s shockingly easy to have the script refilled. One before a show and it’s all smooth sailing.”

Frank looked at the bottle, doubtful and overwhelmed with hesitation, “...What does it feel like?” he kicked sheepishly at the blue, trampled rug on the floor. 

Mikey sat back in the overstuffed chair. “The best way to describe it? It’ll take you to a place where nothing hurts.” 

“And you drink while you’re on these?” Frank asked skeptically. 

“In moderation, of course. You can’t mix this shit like coke and booze,” Mikey cautioned him. 

Frank chewed his lip before sticking out a hand, “Give it.” 

\--

“I didn’t know about that…” 

“Because I made a point not to tell you until now,” Frank sighed, sitting back in the grass that surrounded him. 

“My little brother, you, and percocets,” Gerard laughed uneasily, “What an unlikely trio. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“It’s not like we were in a place to discuss it. The way you acted after tour ended,” Frank shook his head, “But I can’t blame you for Bert’s enablement.” 

\--

The first withdrawal is one of the worst. Of course, without Bert, without tour, without a home, and without any money to buy hollywood-grade blow, Gerard was cut off cold turkey. His paradise only extended as far as Bert’s proximity. 

Frank was more or less “keeping” Gerard in his basement, where his mom couldn’t hear Gerard thrashing around and sobbing. It was still new to him, but Frank had made a deal with a demon of his own, and his plug was much more accessible. Mikey could toss a handful of percs his way any day of the week, and Frank was coddling Gerard with glazed eyes as Gerard spat profanities at him. 

“This is all…  _ your _ fucking fault,” Gerard’s brows were furrowed and his face was pushed into Frank’s chest. His hands were clenched into fists and gripping Frank’s shirt so tightly that veins were protruding from his arms. “How could you let me do all that blow? I said ‘only one line,’  _ didn’t I?  _ But you let me do a second one. No, actually, you shouldn’t have fucking let me do the first one at all. Do you even fucking care about me?” Gerard was half-ranting, half-sobbing and he shook uncontrollably, his stomach queasy. “I need coke. I  _ need _ it, Frank.” 

Frank closed his eyes to center himself and, if not for Mikey’s Magic Pills, it would’ve proven difficult. He ignored the entire rant, ignored the fact that Gerard most certainly did  _ not  _ say ‘only one line,’ and instead focused on his pleas. “You  _ don’t  _ need it,” he insisted soothingly, “It’ll pass, you’ll never have to suffer like this again once you sober up.” 

Under any other circumstance, Gerard would’ve accepted Frank’s comfort in a heartbeat. Instead, he raised his head and pushed Frank away suddenly, standing up and stepping back from the dazed man. “Fuck you. If you won’t get me coke, I don’t need you,” Gerard hissed. He clenched his jaw and momentarily clamped his fist, eyes narrowed. After a few seconds, he unclenched his hand and moved to turn away, but doubled back and instead savagely spat on Frank. “Leave me the  _ fuck _ alone,” and in that moment, Gerard really meant it. He waved his hands in frustration and turned to grab a bottle of chilled jagermeister from the minifridge. 

Frank’s eyebrows were knitted together in bafflement as to how his soothing words could have landed so poorly. He could honestly cry, but the percocet saved him the trouble. His eyes simply glazed over further as he disassociated, Gerard’s saliva dripping from his cheek and jaw. He smiled sadly as the taller man holed himself up in the basement’s guest room and laid into his pillow, punching and shrieking into it. Frank stared at the bedroom door, forlorn. “I love you, so much,” he whispered into the stale, empty air, haphazardly wiping Gerard’s spit from his cheek. 

\--

“I wasn’t  _ that _ bad. There’s no way that’s exactly how it happened. I don’t remember spitting on you,” Gerard’s eyes were wide with horror.

“That’s because you choose to forget, love,” Frank smiled with a great sadness attached, the corners of his mouth aged from experience, never grinning quite the same. 

“It’s hard to keep track of it all when you’ve been through it so many times,” Gerard sighed, quiet and ashamed. 

Frank dug a crushed pack of American Spirits out of his back pocket and shakily lit one. “So many times,” he agreed. 

\--

One withdrawal theoretically should’ve been sufficient to keep Gerard clean for good; he was sober for long enough during the down time to resist, according to clinical terms, but blow was always on the back of his mind nowadays. It didn’t help that My Chem was about to reunite with Bert in the studio to record “You Know What They do to Guys Like Us in Prison…” It was a song he and Gerard had written on tour together in Bert’s dressing room after having snorted a full gram of snow between the two of them within a couple of hours. 

After the worst of Gerard’s withdrawals subsided, the boys had entered the studio to slowly start chipping away at their second album, and Bert was arriving to sing on the record any day now. Frank was beyond nervous, praying against all odds that Bert’s presence wouldn’t result in a relapse, but his hopes weren’t very high. 

The day Bert landed in Jersey was, once again, Gerard’s downfall. Bert bounded into the studio in high spirits, greeting everyone enthusiastically. “Who’s fucking ready for Bert Fuckin’ McCracken?” he was his own biggest fan. Gerard laughed, but the others barely resisted rolling their eyes at the blatant narcissism. Bert was seemingly unaffected by the coldness of the room and forged on, “I’m fuckin’  _ ready _ to sing on this record, it’s going to be  _ insane.  _ Just need some party favours first,” He smirked, pulling an entire eight ball out of his pocket like it was nothing. Three and a half grams, like a tiny, solid snowglobe in the palm of Bert’s hand.

Gerard’s eyes bulged; he’d never seen so much blow at one time before, and his mouth was practically watering at the gorgeous view. “I can always count on you, man,” he said euphorically, all of the edge in his voice from the past couple of months melting away at the reprise. He shot a pointed look at Frank who had obviously refused to pick up for him, and joined Bert without second thoughts. 

Frank clenched his jaw bitterly, shoving his hand in his pocket and pulling out a pill that he swallowed dry when no one was looking. He considered Bert; he might be half decent if he were ever sober, but Frank had nothing but resentment for the man who kept Gerard high as a kite for the sake of his own entertainment. 

“Well, I’m gonna go get a beer before we start,” Ray announced unnecessarily, rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort as he stood up. 

Bert and Gerard paid no attention to the rest of them, barely aware of their surroundings. Gerard watched with greedy, glassy eyes as Bert crushed a chunk of blow with his designated coke card between the dollar bill and a clean ashtray - whatever worked. He bit his lip in anticipation as Bert cut it up, and looked questioningly at the scruffy singer when he licked a finger and dipped it into the pile of powder before pointedly rubbing it over his gums. He sucked on his finger, smirking. “What, never heard of gumming?” Bert teased Gerard, “Baby, you’ve got so much to learn. Here, try,” he pushed the ashtray towards Gerard. Gerard raised an eyebrow but shrugged, following suit and copying Bert. It tasted  _ clean,  _ sterile almost. Like powdered toothpaste with far less mint. Gerard looked at him quizzically, waiting for something to happen, but Bert just laughed and handed Gerard the rolled up bill, “Give it a minute.” 

He accepted the bill and immediately leaned down to snort two lines, much like Bert had done the first time Gerard had ever tried the prestigious drug. When he lifted his head and passed the bill back, he touched his jaw in wonder and laughed. “Holy fuck, my mouth is numb as shit,” Gerard closed his eyes, grinning as he quickly climbed through the ranks of bliss. 

“Fuck yeah, it is. One way to tell if your blow is good,” Bert bragged, sniffling and wiping his nose before dragging his tongue over his teeth in satisfaction. “Hey, is this a smoker’s studio?” Bert easily changed the subject and looked around, truly registering his company for the first time since he’d arrived. Matt had disappeared, and Mikey was sitting beside Frank, focused on picking at his nails, his legs crossed tightly.

The engineer was sitting near the one-way glass, setting up the ProTools session on the computer. He shrugged, casual and oblivious by choice to Bert’s antics, “Knock yourself out.” 

“That is the shit I like to hear,” Bert said approvingly, and pulled out a pack of Camels, “Dude, you’ve got to try this, too.” Gerard watched as Bert selected a cigarette and licked around the butt of the filter before rolling it in the leftover pile of icing, placing it between his lips and lighting the cigarette. “I swear,” he said around the cig, “This will change your life.” 

Gerard’s eyes widened in wonder and he eagerly copied Bert, pulling out his Marlboro Reds. And God, was he right. It was impossible to truly describe the feeling, but the taste of the coke and tobacco combined quickly became one of Gerard’s favourite sensations. His lips grew pleasantly numb; he felt like he could eat cigarettes for breakfast and, more importantly, go practically forever without having to stop to actually eat. An actor’s diet.

Frank endured Gerard’s catching on to all of Bert’s little tips and tricks, grinding his teeth as he sat on edge, furious and tense. He had half a mind to kick Bert out of the studio, but he felt himself starting to roll, his thoughts sliding away from the rage and hurt. He melted back into the couch and watched Gerard with uneasy resolve, reluctant acceptance as the pill numbed his mind. What else could he do, really? It was useless - their bands’ managers had already booked another tour together to support their second album, that was the plan and it would remain as such if Gerard and Bert could help it.

Gerard stubbed out his cigarette and coaxed the bill from Bert, rolling it up again after cutting himself another two lines. “Gotta be ready for the studio,” he justified, and pinned his face to the table while Bert laughed unnecessarily loudly. Gerard was all smiles, troubles forgotten at this point. He raised his head and located Frank. “Frankie, let’s go outside before we start,” he suggested, holding out a hand to him. 

Frank blinked sluggishly and attempted to focus on Gerard. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed dazedly, standing up to take his hand. 

They exited the studio together, Gerard buzzing and Frank floating. Gerard leaned against the old brick, vine-covered wall outside of the studio and Frank sat at his feet, cross legged with his back also to the wall. They both lit cigarettes, quiet for a while as they puffed away.

It was Gerard who finally broke the silence as he lit his second smoke, “Are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” Frank said, maybe a little too quickly. 

Gerard raised an eyebrow in disbelief and stared at the lightly tattooed man sitting at his own Doc Marten-clad feet.

“I’m  _ not,”  _ Frank insisted, making grabby hands at Gerard.

Gerard obliged and slid his back down the wall to sit beside Frank on the cracked asphalt, their shoulders touching. He looked at him expectantly, “Well?”

Frank laughed and lightly smacked Gerard’s shoulder, “Oh, shut up,” but his painted nails found his jaw and he was pulling Gerard into a deep kiss. 

Gerard lost himself for a while, hand on the side of his neck while Frank held his face with both of his own. The cigarette between the fingers of his other hand smoldered away as they made out, Frank’s tongue gliding over the back of Gerard’s upper teeth. The ash grew longer until there was nothing left to burn and Gerard abruptly pulled back from the kiss, yelping when the glowing cherry reached his knuckles and unexpectedly singed him.

Frank accidentally nipped Gerard’s lip as he pulled away, drawing a small trickle of blood from a split in his lower lip. “Shit, sorry, G,” he said with concern.

Gerard registered his dejected cigarette and let the butt fall to the asphalt before dabbing at his lip. “Oops,” he just laughed, leaning back against the brick wall and running a hand through his hair. 

He lit a third cigarette, causing Frank to raise an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t we be heading back in?” he asked skeptically. 

“Last one and I’m done,” Gerard promised. Frank indulged him as he absentmindedly ran his fingertips over Gerard’s free arm. 

But the moment was just  _ too  _ perfect, and Bert  _ had  _ to stick his head out of the studio door, his voice taunting, “Hey, dumbasses, are we starting this shit or not?” 

Frank begrudgingly followed Gerard back into the studio where Bert insisted they each needed one more bump to delve into the work ahead. Bert was unceremoniously loud in the studio and the engineer took great pleasure in muting the vocals as Bert sang countless takes. When neither of the frontmen were queued to sing, the two sat huddled on the studio’s couch, spitballing lyrical and musical ideas off of each other for the growing album. They were so caught up in the creative process that they hardly noticed the dwindling supply of blow accompanied by a second ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. 

They were writing intently while the rest of the band was recording tracks into the early hours of the morning and, as Gerard pulled out the last cigarette from his third pack of the day, the engineer cleared his throat and turned to them. “Listen, guys,” he finally said, “I know I said to knock yourselves out earlier, but I’m going to have to ask y’all to take that shit outside.” He was clearly down to his last ounce of patience, the entire lounge clouded with dozens of cigarettes’ worth of smoke. 

Gerard looked around as if he was just registering the fact that they had created a haze in the studio. “Oh, shit, sorry man. Totally. I gotta get more smokes anyway,” He said sheepishly, standing up and blinking. He put a hand to his temple, lightheaded. “Jesus,” he didn’t need to be told twice to leave, heading outside with Bert eagerly on his tail. 

“Man, these songs are going to be next level, you are  _ so  _ lucky to have me…” Bert chattered on, blowing smoke up his own ass as Gerard lit his last cig. 

He talked on and on and on as they meandered towards a 24 hour gas station until Gerard stopped suddenly and raised a hand to silence Bert, stating, “I’m gonna be sick.” With no food to settle his stomach, that last cigarette toppled his scales and he was doubling over in the street, puking up bile. His throat burned from the taste of his sick mixed with coke as well as a week’s worth of tobacco smoked in one night. 

He groaned in misery as Bert chortled and slapped his back empathetically. “Happens to the best of us. You’ll either get used to it, or become immune to it,” he said casually. 

\--

“God, the engineer was  _ pissed,”  _ Frank couldn’t help but chuckle when he pictured himself discovering the blanket of smoke and out-of-sorts engineer in the lounge after finishing a few runs of guitar tracking with Ray. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever smoked more cigarettes than that in one night,” Gerard confessed, amused at his sheer idiocy from that particular memory. 

“It’s a record you’ll never beat,” Frank agreed. 

“Yeah, well, your record for stupid  _ must  _ be that time you let me convince you to get a tattoo  _ of _ a cigarette,” Gerard teased him. 

“Oh, most definitely.” 

\--

Frank and Gerard were standing together on a balcony adorned with hanging and potted plants. It led off of a party room filled with people present solely for the purpose of celebrating their band. They were overlooking Hollywood from a few stories up and could see thousands of twinkling lights vastly spread across the City of Angels in the rapidly fading sunset. Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge had just dropped worldwide and the release party for it was massive. It seemed like the entirety of the pop-punk scene was there. The Used, obviously, because Bert had been a part of the album process and was therefore a guest of honour. Also, because there was no way Gerard was able to function at a party of this scale without a little pick-me-up. The Chicagoan band, Fall Out Boy, had shown up to congratulate them and while the lead singer seemed like a bit of a wallflower, akin to a sober Gerard, the bassist was loud and easily fit into the scene, schmoozing with the lot of them. By the end of the night, Frank discovered with a chuckle that Pete Wentz had somehow managed to punch his number into half of the band’s phones. Jimmy Eat World was present, and even Mark Hoppus showed face to celebrate with them. The boys had spent a couple hours paying their dues and thanking their guests before they absolutely required some fresh air, having made their way to the calm balcony in the peace of the warm LA twilight. 

“This is just, wow,” Gerard said in awe, “I can’t believe all of these people are here for  _ us.” _

“I know,” Frank grinned as he took a pull from his cigarette, “It’s insane, really.”

“I just feel like… I feel like we need to do something else to celebrate, just the two of us,” Gerard was smirking, like he already had a plan. 

Frank raised an eyebrow and chuckled, “Such as?”

Gerard pretended to ponder before answering. “Matching tattoos,” he said with resolve. 

Frank laughed involuntarily, “ _ You _ ? Getting a  _ tattoo _ ? With a fear of needles that intense?” He could hardly believe Gerard was being serious, especially with the amount of liquor and drugs of choice that they had respectively consumed. His mind was reeling even at the concept.

“For you? One hundred percent,” Gerard promised, his eyes dead serious even behind the intoxication. 

Of course, Frank agreed on the spot, knowing he’d probably never be presented with another opportunity like this ever again. On top of their usual inebriation, they were both additionally elevated on all of the attention their newest album had brought them, never having imagined they’d get this far with their art. Gerard’s head was above the clouds, in orbit even, and they ditched the party in favour of celebrating on their own. Gerard stumbled down the sidewalk, piggybacking Frank as he pressed kisses to Gerard’s neck and their laughter echoing through the eerie LA streets. They stopped at the first parlour they could find that was still open at such a late hour, and Gerard eased Frank off of his back. 

“You’re sure about this?” Frank rubbed Gerard’s arm endearingly. 

“Don’t try to talk me out of this, Iero,” Gerard grinned, kissing him spontaneously. When he pulled away, he grabbed Frank’s hand and tugged him into the studio with a guffaw.

Any good tattoo artist would refuse to tattoo anyone in the same state as Frank and Gerard, but then, any good ink salon wouldn’t be open at this hour. The artist took one look at them and shrugged, “What’ll it be, boys?”

Frank stopped, knitting his eyebrows together. He hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead; the idea of Gerard getting a tattoo had totally consumed his thoughts.

Gerard, however, answered easily, “Matching tattoos of a cigarette. You know, Simpsons style.” 

Frank snorted in incredulity, “ _ Seriously? _ No way,” he laughed.

Gerard rounded on Frank, smirking maniacally. “Yes way, come on. Do this for me. It’ll be so funny. Just a tiny Simpsons ciggie chilling on your leg? I mean, that’s the dream, isn’t it?”

Frank just laughed harder, “The dream? You’re  _ deluded _ . But…” He sighed, baffled that he was agreeing, “Fine.” 

The gruff artist rolled his eyes, arms folded across his chest as he waited for them to make up their minds, “So, which one of you is going first, then?” he cut them off, impatient. 

Frank could still hardly wrap his head around the concept but, just under an hour later, the two of them were staggering out of the salon and shaking with laughter at the fact that they had really, seriously, just gotten tattoos of cigarettes together. They had opted for Gerard to go first so that he didn’t have to watch Frank have ink pounded into his ankle by dozens of angry needles and be expected to still have enough courage to follow through. Despite how wired Gerard was already, his eyes instantly widened into saucers when the buzz of the tattoo gun sparked up. He was having second thoughts about getting his first, and only, tattoo and Frank could tell. Frank grabbed his hand encouragingly and squeezed it; he could feel Gerard’s pulse rapidly thudding in his clammy palm. Somehow, Gerard persevered by holding onto Frank’s hand like a vice and staring, bug-eyed, at the ceiling for the duration of the tattooing.

Frank eagerly hopped up onto the tattooing bed after the artist wrapped up Gerard’s fresh ink, a much easier client to handle. He still opted to hold Gerard’s hand as the artist worked, but he closed his eyes contentedly and just let it happen. His head was rolling, with liquor or perkies he couldn’t tell at this point, and his heart was so slow, so calm. It was possibly the easiest tattoo he had ever received, and Gerard had to shake him awake by the time it was over. 

\--

“Awake?” Frank stopped Gerard as they reminisced over the bonding moment. “Don’t you mean  _ alive _ ? I’m pretty sure I was on death’s doorstep that night,” he said seriously. 

“Yeah, and so was I,” Gerard joked, “That shit was scary.” 

“No, like, I swear to god. I think I drank too much, and mixed with percs… I really think if you didn’t wake me up, that would’ve been  _ it _ for me,” Frank laughed a little, taken aback by the realization. 

“Oh, shit,” Gerard said, accompanied by his own nervous laughter, “And all this time I thought you were showing off.” 

\--

The two men smoked menthols outside of the tattoo parlour in celebration, admiring the half-decent inkwork and chuckling over the world’s newest and best inside joke. As they headed back towards the hotel, Gerard was shaking his head with amusement, “I can’t believe you fell asleep. I can’t believe  _ I  _ got a tattoo!” 

Frank smiled crookedly, holding Gerard’s hand and swinging their arms between them as they walked. “You  _ actually _ got a tattoo,” Frank said, still processing the fact, “No way anyone’s going to believe this.”

“They’re gonna have to,” Gerard laughed. They piped down for a while, in good spirits and better company, and the silence was comfortable as they made their way back. After some time, Gerard shook himself out of his thoughts and abruptly stopped in his tracks. He turned to look at Frank, unceremoniously blurting out, “Shit, Frankie, I think I’m in love with you.” He rubbed his neck sheepishly, biting his lip and breaking contact with Frank’s doe eyes. 

Frank’s breath caught in his throat and he instinctively squeezed Gerard’s hand, at a temporary loss for words. He never thought he’d hear those words tumbling out of Gerard’s perfect lips. “I... “ Frank started dazedly, but he stopped to center himself and attempted to muster up the confidence that was currently buried under the pills. Fuck, he did  _ not  _ want to be numb right now. Gerard looked at him expectantly, fear of rejection slowly overcoming his face. Frank tried again, “Well, I am  _ definitely  _ in love with you,” he said matter-of-factly. 

Gerard let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in the form of a short laugh. “Of course that’s your response,” he said, his eyes watery. Gerard threw his arms around Frank, kissing him earnestly and Frank reciprocated, all but melting. “I love you,” Gerard said when they broke away, getting a feel for the words in his mouth. They felt rusty and awkward coming from him, but at the same time it felt round and right.

Frank could honestly cry if the function hadn’t been chemically blocked off. “I love you too,” he replied, so genuinely it made Gerard’s heart ache. 

It was impossible telling how, but the two of them somehow managed to find their way back to the hotel after taking a couple of accidental detours. They had come to terms with the fact that they were most likely going to run into someone from the party and get roped into returning to the sea of faces. They entered the glistening, high-ceilinged lobby with resolve, making a beeline for the elevator to see if the odds were in their favour. As they rose through the floors, side-eyeing each other in anticipation, they tensed when the elevator slowed to let someone on, only sighing in relief when the patron paid no mind to them and exited on a floor that did not contain the party room. They were homefree, gliding past the party floor without a hitch, headed for Frank’s room. 

As they rose above the party floor, Gerard could hear the thudding of music and laughter of party-goers that apparently hadn’t even noticed their absence. He was thankful though, and couldn’t keep his hands off of Frank once they were in the clear. Gerard impulsively pushed him up against one of the mirrored elevator walls, wedging a knee between his legs and kissing him hard, his hands already greedily creeping under Frank’s dress shirt. Frank breathed in sharply through his nose, a small whine forming at the back of his throat as he kissed Gerard back. His shoulder blades were pressed back against the mirror and his hands found Gerard’s hips as Frank angled his own to their advantage. He rocked slightly against his thigh as Gerard’s hands skittered up his stomach. They kissed messily, their teeth knocking and tongues competing. Gerard sucked on Frank’s lower lip and grunted as they created friction, only breaking away when the elevator door slid open upon their destination. He gazed hungrily into Frank’s hazel eyes before smirking and grabbing his hand to pull him to the room. 

After kicking off their shoes in the entrance of the comfortable lodging, Frank sat on the queen sized bed, loosening his red tie and unbuttoning his charcoal dress shirt as Gerard excused himself to the washroom. He leaned over the edge of the bed and dug through his carry-on bag, making sure he had lube and condoms, just in case. He shoved them into the bedside table drawer before relaxing back into the pillows and admiring the artwork on the wall; he’d seen some really gorgeous pieces and had been so tempted to steal from hotels, if it wouldn’t cause their manager a load of paperwork. Somehow, he refrained. Frank was relieved that his head was starting to clear up and he could feel his heart bouncing around his insides with anticipation. He was nervous and excited and, holy shit, Gerard  _ loved him.  _ He bit his lip and smiled to himself, squeezing his eyes shut and wrinkling his nose in joy. 

Meanwhile, Gerard pursed his smiling lips as he cut up the last of the coke Bert had given to him as an album release gift. He turned on the bathroom fan and bent down with a rolled up bill, snorting the remainder of the blow that the evening had allotted for him. When he came up, he stared at himself in the mirror with huge eyes, wiping his nose and making note of the irritated patch of skin under his right nostril. He ended up having to switch to the left because the one he favoured had become so inflamed. Still, he chalked it up as a problem for Future Gerard because, shit, who cared when Frank  _ loved him.  _

Gerard had to seriously refrain from jumping in the air and clicking his heels together as he exited the bathroom, feeling like he was worth a billion dollars. He turned the corner and the grin spread across his face so wide it seemed to take up at least half of his angular features. “Fuck, you are so hot,” He stated, wasting no time in crawling onto the bed over top of Frank. His fingers greedily pushed the loosened tie aside and slid up Frank’s olive chest, naturally spreading his shirt and exposing his skin. He leaned down to press open-mouthed kisses to his collarbones. 

Frank was already dissolving underneath Gerard, his arms linking behind his shoulders as his hands weaved into his hair. “I think you’re talking about yourself,” Frank replied with a shiver and a sigh. 

Gerard chuckled, drawing a moan from him as he bit down on Frank’s collar and sucked an angry hickey onto his pale skin. He smirked smugly and lifted his head to kiss the smaller man deeply for a moment before pulling back to help Frank out of his shirt. He ignored the loosened tie around his neck and Frank didn’t move to take it off either, preoccupied. Gerard started working down Frank’s throat, chest, stomach - he made sure to suck long, hot kisses onto Frank’s tattooed skin, his hands sliding down his ribcage and to his belt as Frank gripped at his hair and whined. Gerard unbuckled the belt and worked quickly to get him out of his inky black dress pants, palming at him through his boxers and hooking two fingers under the waistline as he licked at Frank’s treasure trail. 

Frank instinctively arched towards him, his head dazed, but not from pills. He watched as Gerard pulled down his boxers and grinned at the sight of his already too-hard cock. Gerard was clearly in control, king of the world who knew exactly what he wanted, and apparently what he wanted was Frank’s dick in his mouth because before he could even blink, Frank was hissing and letting his eyes roll back at the sensation. His erection twitched towards Gerard’s lips as he licked up the shaft and then took him into his mouth, energetically sucking and bobbing his head for a few minutes. 

Gerard didn’t linger for long though, tongue moving to tease at Frank’s balls before he raised his head, resting his cheek on Frank’s inner thigh. “Turn over for me, would ya?”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” Frank said breathily. As Gerard loosened his own tie, threw it aside, and started unbuttoning his shirt, Frank rolled over and lifted his ass in the air. 

Gerard smirked and straddled the back of Frank’s knees, covetously grabbing handfuls of his ass before raising his arm back and spanking him hard. Frank moaned, pushing back. “You like that, sugar?” Gerard purred, and he was honestly surprised by himself; he wasn’t one to talk dirty in the bedroom, but the bag of sunshine he had received that night was like powdered confidence. 

“Fuck,  _ yes,”  _ Frank hissed, rocking his hips towards Gerard as he buried his face in the pillows. 

Gerard leered smugly, pleased with the now glowing red replica of his hand on the horizon of Frank’s ass. He brought his right hand up, spanking him again before fluidly raising it up to his left shoulder and bringing it back down, his knuckles connecting with his ass. 

Frank gasped and instinctively pressed into the plush mattress as his skin stung in the cool air. He whined and his thighs shook, held in place, his legs pinned together between Gerard’s while he reached around Frank to jerk him for a minute. 

Gerard bit his lip at the unruly noises Frank was making, smoothing his hand over his ass. He grazed the angry welts momentarily before repeating the motion a half dozen more times as Frank whimpered and squirmed, biting the pillow. “That’s  _ such  _ a good boy,” Gerard’s voice had dropped a whole octave and sounded like velvet. He shrugged off his shirt and released Frank’s legs, pressing a hand into the small of his back to coax him into spreading himself out. Frank obliged and Gerard ran both of his hands down the length of his back before lying on his stomach between Frank’s legs, spreading his ass apart at the cleft. Gerard grunted, pleased. He lowered his head and bit Frank’s cheek, licking over the teeth marks and letting his tongue wander towards his asshole, swirling around the rim. Frank moaned openly into the pillows, his face flushed pink. Gerard readjusted his hands, spreading him wider and pressing his tongue into Frank’s hole. He was aching so badly in his dress pants, so fucking turned on by the state he had Frank in. Gerard took his sweet time rimming him, savouring all of the ungodly noises coming from Frank’s mouth. When he finally surfaced, he stuck a hand out near Frank’s head. “Lube,” he instructed, spanking Frank’s asscheek again with a smug grin. 

Frank moaned, turned on by Gerard’s demanding demeanor. “Yes, boss,” he said breathlessly, so fucking glad he had prepared for this. He struggled slightly to relocate the lube and condoms in the side table, passing them back to Gerard when he had managed the task. 

Gerard took them, leaning down to spread Frank’s ass and lick around the rim again before squeezing some lube onto his digits and pressing his pointer finger against Frank’s hole. Frank hissed and tensed for a moment before relaxing and allowing Gerard to ease his finger inside. One knuckle and then two, and then he was twisting his digit as he eased it out and pushed back in. Frank whimpered in pleasure, eyes shut tight as Gerard started curling his slick finger once it was moving without resistance. He splayed a hand over Frank’s asscheek, keeping him spread wide and enjoying the view as he added a second. Soon Frank was groaning and rolling his hips back, involuntarily fucking himself on his fingers as Gerard reached for his prostate. Finally, Gerard eased out and ran his hands soothingly over Frank’s back for a moment while the smaller shuddered and relaxed into the sheets. Gerard got off of his stomach and kicked out of his pants and boxers fast as he could. He spit in his hand and momentarily pumped his own cock while he groped Frank’s ass with his free hand. He moved to tear open a condom packet, rolling down the rubber and lubing himself up. 

Finally, Gerard spread Frank’s ass and guided the head of his cock to his hole, very carefully easing it in. Both of them groaned as Frank took Gerard’s entire length. Gerard moved his hands to the small of Frank’s back, his thumbs pressing into his spine as he gripped his hips, beginning to slowly and deeply fuck him into the bed. 

Frank’s eyes fluttered as Gerard started to establish a rhythm. He pressed his ass up and gripped the comforter tightly in his fists. This was so much more than he had bargained for, and he was so aroused by all of the sensations Gerard was teasing him with. He turned his head to the side, cheek resting in the pillows as he took the length with grace, letting out little breathy moans. 

Gerard watched Frank with avaricious eyes, admiring his lover and digging his nails into his hips reflexively. He released Frank, only to lean forward and take hold of both of his hands with his own. Gerard detached his reluctant fingers from the sheets and restrained his arms so that Frank was pulled up onto his knees doggy-style. Guiding him, with one hand Gerard held Frank’s crossed wrists against the base of his own spine, giving Gerard more leverage to fuck him harder, faster. Frank leaned his head back, brows furrowed at the advancement, a loud moan escaping his pierced lips. 

Gerard smirked, reaching forward with his free hand and grabbing the tie still hanging around Frank’s neck. He adjusted it so that it acted as a collar and leash, exposing his pretty throat. Gerard’s grin spread in response to Frank choking out a strangled moan, his eyes rolling back as he eagerly rocked back to meet Gerard’s. Frank’s hair stuck to his forehead and sweat dripped down the arch of his eyebrow onto his cheek. 

Gerard continued to hold his wrists and tugged on the tie, fucking Frank erratically for some time. He was entirely sure he had never performed this well in the bedroom before, silently thanking the White Lady for his good fortune. Gerard breathed raggedly as he thrusted, feeling a tingle in his spine upon the sound of Frank crying out when he located his prostate. Gerard automatically let go of Frank’s wrists as well as the tie, letting him fall forward into the bed; Frank immediately grabbed hold of the pillows around him, knuckles turning white with his grip. He continued to moan steadily as Gerard seized Frank’s hips, hitting his prostate repeatedly.

Frank was hysterical at this point, on the brink of coming completely undone up until the point Gerard’s hips slowed and he started to ease out, eliciting a confused and dejected whine from Frank. “I-I was almost…” Frank complained shakily, his voice absolutely wrecked. 

Gerard chuckled and ran his hands over Frank’s ass before nudging him to roll over. “You really think I’d let you cum without being able to see that gorgeous face?” Gerard crooned.

Frank couldn’t help but smile, assenting and rolling onto his back. He flinched when his bruised ass rubbed against the soft sheets, but quickly forgot about his tenderness when Gerard situated himself between Frank’s legs, re-lubing himself. He gazed up at Gerard, running his hands up his ivory chest and sighing breathily as Gerard eased back in. Frank locked eyes with him once their hips were meeting halfway, mouth parted in concentration. Gerard took the opportunity without much thought, moving his hand to cradle Frank’s jaw and resting the tip of his thumb suggestively on his lower lip. Gerard’s eyes were somewhat insane boring into his own and he couldn’t help the moan that escaped at the erotic gesture. His tongue flicked out to invitingly lick at Gerard’s thumb first, but soon he was sucking on the digit as it glided along the inside of Frank’s bottom teeth. Gerard caressed his jaw with his fingertips, still maintaining the intense eye contact. He used his other hand for support against the bed frame while Frank’s made their way to Gerard’s back, clawing at his skin in response to his performance. 

Gerard coaxed his thumb out of Frank’s mouth in favour of leaning down to kiss him, fucking into him with fervour. They kissed for a few moments, open-mouthed and heavy. Gerard broke the connection to rest their foreheads together and murmur, “Fuck, I love you.”

Frank moaned, over the moon with pleasure. “I love you too, G,” he reciprocated, his eyes searching Gerard’s. It was Frank who closed the space between them, licking into Gerard’s mouth. Gerard kissed back earnestly and his hands moved to hold his hips for leverage, changing his angle to reach Frank’s prostate again. Frank’s hips jerked, his nails tore over Gerard’s back, and he moaned openly into his mouth upon impact. They sucked and nipped at each other’s lips, sweaty bodies intertwined. Frank’s cock was caught in the friction between them as Gerard thrusted dutifully until finally, Frank was unravelling underneath him. 

Frank broke the kiss, gasping for breath as he came  _ hard.  _ His dick twitched between their stomachs, hips jerking unpredictably, and he involuntarily clenched around Gerard’s length, waves of euphoria dozing him over. “ _ Fuck,”  _ Frank whined, dragging out the word for multiple syllables. 

Just the sight was enough to send Gerard into a tailspin, let alone the sound of him; it absolutely floored him. Entranced and groaning, Gerard pushed his face into his throat and sucked at his Adam's apple. He came soon after Frank, quivering from pleasure as his hips spasmed a handful more. When they had both settled down enough to make sense of their movements, Gerard finally pulled out. He collapsed beside Frank, tugging off the condom and tying it before throwing it aside. 

Frank sighed blissfully. He naturally rolled onto his side to sling an arm across Gerard’s chest. Gerard wrapped his arm around Frank’s shoulders protectively as the smaller curled into his side and rested his cheek on Gerard’s chest. He tilted his chin up, smiling softly as Gerard accepted a long, gentle kiss. 

“I love you,” Frank whispered when their slow, lazy kiss devolved into nothingness. 

“I love you too,” Gerard whispered back, endearingly nuzzling his nose against Frank’s. 

Neither of them had problems sleeping that night, losing track of which limb was who’s as their bodies remained endlessly connected. 

\--

Frank opened his eyes, surfacing from the deep and cherished memory. He absentmindedly ran the pads of his fingers over the aged cigarette tattoo above his ankle. “I must say, on second thought, I don’t regret this at all,” Frank smiled knowingly. 

“I guess I’ve got to agree,” Gerard chuckled, his fingertips hovering over Frank’s tattoo but not quite connecting with his skin, as if there was a sheet of glass between them. 

“Maybe the actual dumbest thing I’ve ever done was bleach my hair in the venue bathroom,” Frank snickered.

“No way, you were fucking stunning.” 

\--

The first Three Cheers… tour had brought ten times as much publicity with it. My Chemical Romance was no longer an underground punk band, no, they were paving the path alongside the likes of blink-182 and starting to make a real name for themselves. Unfortunately, that meant that the shows were becoming more crowded, venues were being upsized, and the boys started having to actively avoid fans at times because there were just so many. The band’s collective self medicating had also worsened; it was really the only way they knew how to face the day and quiet the cumbersome anxiety.

Gerard was letting his hair grow out and had gotten into the habit of haphazardly smudging his eyelids with whatever red makeup he could find each night. He was damn lucky the style worked for him, because truth was he was usually just too intoxicated to steadily apply the look he had originally envisioned. Since they were touring with The Used yet  _ again  _ for the sake of performing the songs Bert had appeared on (And, good God, the rest of the boys were fiending for a change in company), Gerard had unexpectedly started a tradition of sorts with Bert. It began when the two made up the pre-show ritual that consisted of doing a shot, then snorting a line, repeat once or twice depending on whether they were feeling lucky that night. A couple nights into the pre-gaming, Gerard whipped his head up from the official snow tray they’d bought, grinning stupidly and letting his head loll back. “I’m very much alive,” he nodded in agreement to himself, “ _ Very  _ much alive.” 

Bert’s head popped up after he snorted his own, laughing loudly. Then he went quiet, an idea dawning on him, “Dude, let me write that on your neck!” Bert broke into laughter again at the incredulous look Gerard was giving him, “No,  _ actually _ ! That could be your thing! After our ritual, whatever word comes to mind first goes on your neck that night. Think of the  _ fans,  _ babe.” 

Gerard cringed slightly at the way Bert mocked his supporters. Sure, the sheer volume of them stressed him out a little, but he didn’t ever take them for granted. Bert did hold a valid point though; the press wanted something to talk about, and this was a perfect way to give it to them. Gerard nodded with resolve. “Okay, yeah, I’m in. Do me up,” he said with a grin. 

“All  _ right!”  _ Bert punched the air victoriously before grabbing the nearest sharpie and penning  _ VERY MUCH ALIVE  _ onto the left side of his neck. 

The crowd that night swelled in a way that was different, more united. Gerard wondered if it was the blow, the booze, or possibly just good old placebo, but when he absentmindedly touched his temporary ink, the sea of shrieks in response to his thoughtless action confirmed the theory on its own. He smiled to himself as he gnashed about on stage, wondering what everyone would think if only they knew about his secret,  _ permanent _ ode to Frank that resided above his ankle.

*

Gerard was really enjoying the habit he and Bert had dreamed up. He was playing the media like a fiddle, making them trip over themselves as they tried to guess at what his messages meant. In addition, he was actively offending the mainstream with some of his more daring choices. They were a few days into Pride month now and Gerard had requested that they add “Faggot” by MSI to their nightly setlist for the remainder of the month as a loud reminder that they were both queer and/or allies, and also that queer people belonged in their scene. He’d been listening to the song nonstop, inspired, so it was only a matter of time before Bert was using a marker to ink  _ FAGGOT  _ onto Gerard’s neck. 

Gerard took one extra shot after Bert had finished with his penmanship, eliciting a, “Hey, that’s cheating!” from him. Gerard just laughed and stood up, waving him off. 

“I’ll see you in a bit, gotta get ready for the show. Tonight’s gonna be a good one, I can just feel it,” Gerard buzzed as he casually walked away from Bert to find the others. 

Bert furrowed his eyebrows and watched Gerard go, dejected and annoyed. He carelessly spun the lid off of the mickey of jager so that it landed on the floor a few feet away, downing the remainder of the bottle. 

Ray wolf whistled when Gerard caught up with the rest of them, leering. “Look at you, stud,” he slapped him on the back. “Happy Pride,” Ray grinned, his breath soaked in whiskey. 

“Shucks,” he chortled, “Happy Pride.” Gerard appreciated him so much. He reached up to plant a confident kiss on Ray’s cheek, bugging. 

Gerard performed with extra soul that night. He wasn’t sure what coaxed it from him, but the show he put on for the crowd must have been one of his best performances thus far. He jerked around the stage, spitting and contorting his body as he lost himself in the set, fuelled by queer activism and artificial serotonin. He blasted through “Faggot”, screaming the song with the crowd and flashing his neck to the press, pleased at how receptive the room was. 

By the time they launched into “It’s not a Fashion Statement…” Gerard was dripping with sweat, his eyes and cheeks smeared with thick red dollar store eyeshadow, dark hair sticking to his face. His charcoal dress shirt was glued to his drenched skin and he shrugged off his blazer as Frank and Ray worked the opening riffs. Gerard jumped on the spot as he screamed, “You get what everyone else gets!” He made his way over to Frank who was watching Gerard, unable to keep himself from smiling at the energy. Gerard grinned back, singing directly to him as he launched into the song, “Do you remember when we met?” 

Frank chewed on his lip ring as Gerard turned back to the crowd, “You told me this gets harder, well it did.” He watched as Gerard started loosening his black and white striped tie, a small grin playing on his lips as his fingers danced across the strings of his guitar. Of course, he remembered the first day they met. 

Leaving the tie done up but swinging it off of his neck, Gerard moved back to Frank. “Promise me that when I’m gone you’ll kill all my enemies,” Gerard threw the tie around Frank’s neck as he sang, letting it hang loosely, “The damage  _ I’ve  _ inflicted, temporary wounds,” Gerard ran his hand down Frank’s chest as the crowd swelled. His faded black t-shirt was rumpled and sweat-soaked under Gerard’s fingertips. It was as if he were issuing a form of apology. For what exactly, Frank wasn’t sure, but his heart was slamming against his chest as Gerard sang to him. “I’m coming back from the dead and I’ll take you home with me,” Gerard gripped the tie for a split second, eyes scorching Frank’s, before swinging back as the crowd screamed the final line of the verse along with him. 

Frank watched Gerard blow through the song, crouching down and holding the microphone like it was a lifeline as he and the crowd grew in intensity and unity alike. They were burning to the end and Frank had let his mind wander, curious about what Gerard meant by the lyrics directed at him, if anything. But he was snapped short of his thoughts when Gerard rounded back on him as the song was reaching dire levels, “And then I will be with you.”

Gerard abruptly grabbed the tie around Frank’s neck, but not hard enough to disturb his playing. “I will be there one last time now, when you go,” Gerard used the tie to guide Frank to the side, coaxing him away from the mic in favour of sharing his own. Frank obliged as the crowd shrieked, leaning in close to Gerard. He harmonized beautifully as Gerard sang, “Just know that I will remember you.” Their foreheads were resting against each other’s now, Gerard still gripping the tie and holding Frank captive inside of his personal bubble. 

Frank stared into Gerard’s wild eyes, his lips parted slightly in awe. “I lost my fear of falling,” Frank proclaimed to Gerard, leaning into him willingly, no question left about his motive now, “I will be with you.” 

“I will be with you,” Gerard finished the song with gusto, never breaking eye contact with Frank. It was as if they were the only two in the room. Gerard was barely thinking at all when he yanked on the loosened tie around Frank’s neck, an homage of sorts, and pulled him into a heavy, messy kiss. Gerard made sure the side of his neck that screamed  _ FAGGOT  _ was visible to all as he sucked on Frank’s lip. The microphone squealed with feedback between their chests, but the crowd roared louder. Frank could barely bring himself to raise his head when the kiss ended, his cheeks burning. 

The pair smiled stupidly at one another as they walked off stage. “Some fucking set that was,” Bert was getting ready to play next and scowled as they passed by. The guy that was once pressuring Gerard into making a move had done a 180 and now seemed almost… jealous? 

And, oh, the press had severely burned Bert on that one. His idea to gain Gerard some traction had worked a little too well, and then backfired in his face. “ _ TROUBLE IN PARADISE? Gerard Way Favours MCR Guitarist Over The Used Frontman”,  _ “ _ GERARD AND BERT BREAK UP? The Truth Behind Frank Lero” _ (Bert snorted in slight satisfaction at the misspelling of the Italian name), and “ _ EMO FRONTMAN SHOCKS CROWD: Everything You Need to Know About StageGay”  _ were just a few of the titles incessantly popping up in Bert’s face. The articles outlined the shocking “Faggot” reclaimation penned across his neck, but they mainly focused on the wave of hysteria Gerard had caused by publicly kissing Frank. Bert assumed this, anyway, because he absolutely refused to read any of the literature. 

*

“Ah ah,” Bert said tauntingly, dangling a small twisted baggie of blow underneath Gerard’s sore nose, “I think it’s time you worked for it.”

Gerard knocked Bert’s hand out of his face, instantly annoyed by his patronizing tone. “What the fuck are you on about?” Gerard snapped, folding his arms across his chest as his leg bounced anxiously. 

“I don’t like that fucking stunt you pulled,” Bert hissed, closing his hand around the pearl, “You want coke, you better  _ beg  _ for me on stage. Or earn it another way.” Bert lewdly palmed at himself. 

Gerard barked a laugh, his voice equally as nasty, “I don’t give a fuck. All you had to do was ask.” Gerard smirked easily, but internally he was panicking. Could Bert really do that? Just cut him from his supply? He was trying not to sweat, saying what he thought Bert wanted to hear. 

Bert blinked as if exiting a fog. He returned to his excitable self like Gerard had flipped a switch. “Well, then, what are we waiting for? Cut her up,” he tossed the baggie at Gerard who fumbled to catch and untie it with shaky fingers. 

He managed and did as he was told, an expert at this point. By the time Bert had shots poured, Gerard had 8 lines laid out. They were up to four shots, four lines each per ritual. 

Gerard rolled up his bill as Bert rolled one of his own. “Gorgeous,” Bert admired the tray, in love. 

Gerard sighed in agreement, his face softened in relief. He watched as Bert lifted his first shot glass to Gerard and started alternating between vices. “Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” he chuckled, thinking out loud, “You’re like a fuckin’...” but Gerard pondered on that as he took shot after shot, alternating between nostrils for the lines, side by side with Bert. “Fairy,” Gerard surfaced from his final set, in synch with Bert and laughing, “A fuckin’ fairy.” 

Frank was passing by Bert’s dressing room, not realizing the door was ajar until Gerard’s voice floated out to meet his ears. “Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” he heard Gerard say, and he couldn’t help himself but to stop and see where he was going with it. Frank peered into the room, grimacing at the sight of Gerard and Bert bent over the table as the wet sound of snorting lines reached his ears. Then Gerard insulted Bert, but why was he laughing? Frank’s expression quickly changed from confusion to horror as he watched Gerard leaning shoulder to shoulder with Bert. Gerard turned his face and put a hand on his jaw, engaging a kiss that Bert eagerly returned. Frank’s cheeks flushed deeply and he wondered whether this was Gerard and Bert’s first kiss off stage. With the way Bert was grabbing fistfuls of Gerard’s hair, Frank attempted to convince himself that he seemed too desperate for it not to be. But the ball of anxiety grew bigger inside of Frank’s guts as Gerard bit his lip hard, pulling a delighted giggle from Bert. He tried to slow himself down, convince himself that it was only the jager or the coke acting, that there was no way in Hell that Gerard wanted Bert; he only ever wanted the snow. He wanted to chalk it up as one kiss equals one pearl, but couldn’t help himself from briskly walking away from the dressing room with tears in his eyes as he dryly swallowed a perc. So much for his effort to avoid pills before their sets, but he felt like he might die if the knot rising from his stomach to his chest suffocated him any further. God, he hated this ceremony more than any other stupid idea Gerard had ever had. 

“A fucking fairy, huh?” Bert laughed once Gerard had broken the kiss, unabashed. He wasted no time in writing  _ FAIRY  _ across Gerard’s neck, more pleased than anything that the word of the night was dedicated to him, “I’ll take what I can get.” 

Gerard ran a hand through his own unwashed hair, sitting back and wiping at his nose subconsciously. “A bit of a dramatic way to get to the point if you ask me,” Gerard said noncommittally, but Bert’s threat was fresh in his mind and didn’t need reiterating. 

Gerard did not disappoint; he worked for his keep that night. Frank was always surprised at how one little pill could make him feel like he was gliding through the hour that they played. His fingers relied on muscle memory, effortlessly producing song after song while his mind rested far above all of their bodies. When Bert joined the stage to play “You Know What They Do…”, Frank barely registered the scowls Bert sent his way. He somehow managed to tune out the edge of Bert’s voice. More importantly, he turned his sight off at the image of Gerard grovelling at his feet, the microphone wedged between Bert’s standing thighs as Gerard sang against the mic.

Bert glanced over at Frank’s blank expression, smug. As he harmonized with the kneeling man, Bert gripped the hair at the crown of Gerard’s head in his free fist as the crowd screamed wildly. He’d never let neither Gerard nor Frank live this down if he could help it. 

*

Frank was smarter than Bert; he kept his phone shut off completely, avoiding any and all articles playing on the Love Triangle trope. He wouldn’t be subject to the titles let alone the contents, even if that meant blocking out everyone from Pete Wentz, to his manager, to his mom for a few days. Of course, that also meant that Frank was heavily doped up on percocets, avoiding everyone in favour of taking up Mikey’s easygoing company. With their combined haze, they could tune out even the most unruly of comments from the likes of Bert. 

“Whoa, hold on, let me get this straight,” Mikey held up both hands in order to slow Frank down to a halt, “So… you’re in love with my brother. And he kissed  _ Bert _ ? Like, by choice, off the clock?” 

Frank found it comforting that the thing that freaked Mikey out most was somehow not the fact that Frank was queer, and pining after Gerard at that. He drew a breath. “Yeah, and I don’t fucking know why,” Frank said, tortured endlessly by the image that was crystal clear in his mind’s eye. Frank couldn’t quite remember how they’d gotten there, but he was spilling his guts to him, at a loss. Mikey had asked something or other, triggering Frank to relay a somewhat detailed account of the “Fairy Incident”. He could feel the impact of the wedge Bert was devilishly driving between them and Gerard, and Mikey was the only one he was sure could truly empathize in the sense that Gerard was his blood.

Mikey pondered this new information for a couple of beats. “Is there anything else you’re missing?” He figured that it was all out there now, might as well make it official. 

Frank pursed his lips before deciding there was only one thing, “Yeah, actually,” he pulled up his pant leg to show Mikey the stupid Simpson’s styled cigarette tattoo. 

Mikey raised an uncomprehending eyebrow, “What about it?”

Frank was a little surprised Mikey didn’t know, but obliged him nonetheless, “It’s a matching tattoo. I got it with Gerard. Gerard has a tattoo.” Saying it felt so strange; Frank still couldn’t believe Gerard had willingly challenged one of his greatest fears like that.

Mikey’s mouth made a silent ‘O’ shape, absolutely baffled. “No  _ way _ ,” he started, but then stopped to really consider the gesture, “Huh.” 

Frank looked at Mikey, puzzled at his change in demeanor, “What?”

“Nothing, just… To get a tattoo for you? He must  _ really  _ love you,” Mikey said, looking at Frank with genuity through his thick frames. 

Frank blushed, expecting literally anything other than the words Mikey had just uttered. He snorted in denial, “Bullshit. He was just super fucking high, obviously,” Frank pushed down his pant leg, flustered, “He acts like I don’t even exist now.” 

Mikey laughed, “Wasn’t he kissing you on stage, like, a week ago? Why don’t you text him and find out?” he suggested with a shrug, “Bet you any money.” 

Frank took out his phone, strongly considering Mikey’s advice. Then he scrunched up his nose and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. “Nah. This is stupid, I shouldn’t. It’s exactly what Bert wants.”

“I’ll pop to that,” Mikey agreed bitterly, pulling out a bottle of pills and shaking a few into his palm. He offered to Frank who assented, and they each popped two, washing them down with beer. 

Less than an hour later, Frank and Mikey’s conversation had devolved into an incoherent comfort session as their stomachs digested the tablets. Frank was leaning against Mikey in a prolonged hug, his nose resting against his shoulder as he shakily repeated, “I love him,” over and over, forlorn. 

“I know, I know,” Mikey hushed him soothingly, his fingers absentmindedly tracing shapes of daisies and stars over Frank’s back. He didn’t really mind. They were both pretty loopy and really just running the clock until the show at this point; everyone needed to decompress and he liked Frank.

“Hey, guys, a half hour til- whoa,” Ray chuckled upon letting himself into Frank’s dressing room, “Am I interrupting something?”

Mikey looked up dazedly as Frank’s languishing died out. “Oh, hey, dude. Frankie’s just having a rough go at it,” he said once his eyes slid into focus on Ray. 

Ray’s eyebrows pulled together in realization, peering at Frank. He walked over to sit on the arm of the couch beside Mikey. “You doing okay, pal?” 

“M’fine,” Frank insisted halfheartedly, his voice muffled against Mikey’s worn Anthrax t-shirt. 

Ray reached over and endearingly stroked Frank’s soft, dark hair. “Whatever it is, man, we’ve got you. Always,” Ray promised. He may be the half-informed, but his heart was solid gold. 

Frank finally showed a little bit of face, turning his head slightly to the side to meet Ray’s walnut eyes. He managed the tiniest of smiles for the gentle giant. “Thanks, Ray,” he said, albeit a bit pouty. 

Ray grinned, nipping Frank’s chin between his thumb and pointer finger’s knuckle, “Chin up, pumpkin. We’ve got this.” He let go of his chin and tapped the tip of Frank’s nose with his finger, “I’ll see you in twenty, okay?”

“Yes, alright,” Frank continued to brood, but at a lesser severity than before. 

Ray stood up, patting Mikey’s head too. “See you, buddy.” 

“Thanks, man,” Mikey waved after him, appreciative. When the door closed behind Ray, he gave Frank a reassuring squeeze. “You should text him if it means this much to you. Fuck Bert, do whatever you want,” he encouraged.

Frank sighed and remained still for a moment before pulling back and retrieving his phone from his pocket. “You’re right,” Frank concurred, “Of course you’re right.” The corners of his mouth gave Mikey a small twinkle of thanks before his attention shifted to his phone. “do u still love me?</3 xofrnk” Frank sent the text and shoved his phone back into his pocket, immediately and involuntarily squeezing his eyes shut and holding his breath.

“ _ Breathe,”  _ Mikey hugged him again without prompting. He’d never seen Frank so distraught, especially over something like love. 

Gerard was halfway through his nightly rails when his phone lit up right beside his ghostly face, containing Frank’s text. Bert was too engulfed in his tiny solo cups of liquid luck to notice, but Gerard easily read every word in a second. A tiny pang shot through his heart, but he momentarily closed his eyes and proceeded to finish the mission cut out in front of him. “One hundred percent,” Gerard proclaimed, aggressively inhaling as he sat back. He quickly forgot to reply to the actual text, but his answer was about to be plastered onto his neck by none other than Bert himself. 

“Right on,” Bert agreed, as if he were in the loop, “One hundred percent, man, one  _ thousand _ fucking percent!” He laughed deliriously as he stood up to seek out a marker. 

Not having received an answer to his question, Frank was going in hurting, and he refused to look Gerard in the face when they all met up to take the stage. He didn’t care what stupid phrase he and Bert had come up with that evening, so he didn’t bother to check his neck. Instead, Frank channeled into the buoyancy of the percs and stared aimlessly into the crowd as the band opened their set.

Gerard was  _ kind _ of wondering what the dirty looks from his own brother were, but he had a decent idea. Well, he would, if he weren’t completely oblivious to Mikey in his current state. He was more focused on making Frank receive the message. He had been so busy responding out loud, to the void, that he hadn’t texted Frank back and hadn’t realized this until absolutely bombing his attempts to capture Frank’s attention. Determined to make up for it, he launched into “To The End” at one hundred percent and worked his way up from there. 

Even just a few lines in, Gerard’s manner of performance demanded Frank’s attention. He couldn’t help but to focus his gaze on Gerard as the vocalist made his way towards him.

“This elevator only goes up to ten,” Gerard was standing in front of Frank, dragging his hand across the  _ 100%  _ scrawled bold on his neck in response to the text the guitarist had sent, “He’s not around, he’s always looking at men,” Gerard bit his lip and stared at Frank purposefully in hopes that he recognized the implication of it all before whipping back around to sing to the audience. 

Frank clenched his jaw for a few moments, but he couldn’t help smiling foolishly to himself. Naturally, he understood Gerard’s maddeningly cryptic messages. And he honestly wasn’t sure whether he was gonna knock Gerard senseless, or maybe fuck him senseless that night. He amusedly thought,  _ leave it up to the press to speculate over that one _ . 

*

Frank let out a miniscule groan, his lips parted as he kissed Gerard heavily, his hand trying to coax it’s way up Frank’s t-shirt. They were stowed away in one of The Roxy’s coat closets (Boston was always good to them), but not because there was no dressing room available. Scrambling managers paired with the scandal of it all made the whole thing funny but, more importantly, kind of  _ definitely _ super hot. Gerard had Frank pressed back into various coats, their faces grazed by silk and cotton, yellow and pink, striped and spotted. Frank was cushioned by the fabrics as he leaned back against the wall, his knee wedged between Gerard’s legs as the taller all but straddled his thigh. They created fiction, rocking their hips together as they lazily made out, Gerard’s tongue re-familiarizing itself with the back of Frank’s upper teeth. Frank had one hand in Gerard’s hair, holding a fistful back from the side of his sharply angled face, the other slung over his shoulder. His hand rested on Gerard’s back, clutching a mickey of JD’s, the lid long lost and forgotten. Gerard held Frank in a similar fashion, one hand resting on his belly under his shirt, the other around his neck with his forearm against the wall for support, a bottle of jager in his clutch. For 3pm on a show night, they weren’t doing too poorly for themselves. 

Frank pressed into Gerard, clenching his hand in his hair momentarily before loosening up and breaking the kiss. He leaned back and grinned at Gerard, his mouth tasting of whiskey and a medicinal, herbal vodka of sorts. “Why don’t we do this more often, anyway? We have all the time in the world,” Frank pondered aloud. 

Gerard chuckled, still casually rocking against Frank’s thigh. “And yet, we never take the time to sit around and just have a few drinks anymore,” they both cracked up. It was true; Gerard was alway mixing substances or favouring blow over alcohol, so much so that he hadn’t noticed Frank doing the same with his own vice. This felt light in comparison, happy-go-lucky. 

Frank sighed and leaned back, his face hardening slightly. He moved his hand from Gerard’s hair, letting it fall back into his face to thumb at his porcelain jaw. “No shit. Why do you hang out with Bert anyway, when you could be drinking in a dark closet with me?” Frank couldn’t help but smirk a bit. 

Gerard snorted and rolled his eyes, taking a swig from his mickey and leaning down to bite a series of open-mouthed kisses to Frank’s neck. “You know why,” he said somewhat miserably, clearly not in the mood to discuss the details when he had more pressing matters at hand. His fingers persisted, pads running over Frank’s chest greedily. 

Frank sighed, his eyes fluttering as he leaned into Gerard, hands roaming his back. “Mm, I suppose,” he responded noncommittally. “But also, fuck Bert, you should run away with me,” Frank’s crooked grin was apparent even in his voice. Wishful thinking, indeed. 

Gerard laughed against Frank’s neck, biting down and sucking a hickey at the nape, drawing a soft moan from the smaller. He pulled back to admire his work before looking at Frank with an impish smile. “Yeah, wouldn’t that be nice,” he agreed, amused, “Imagine us, eloping in Mexico, changing our names and dying our hair and being forgotten and looking at the blue ass ocean from the white ass beach with tiny fuckin’ rainbow umbrellas between our toes.” The imagery of Frank in a flashy blue and yellow button up and Gerard sunburnt like a lobster contentedly drinking piña coladas was just too much, sending them both into a wave of laughter. The two shook uncontrollably, losing balance and tumbling, tangled together on the coat closet floor with a handful of jackets and drinks miraculously unspilled. 

As the laughter died down to the occasional chuckle, Frank drank from his bottle and smiled to himself, “That’s the dream.”

Gerard just grinned and shook his head in mirth. He pressed forward to capture Frank in another lengthy kiss, burning the clock away in the dim, musty closet with his drunken, tattooed boy.

After a couple hours of being cooped up with Frank, Gerard was eventually summoned to his ritual with Bert. Gerard had tied Bert over with their immaculate performances together the past few nights, and they were getting on just fine. 

Bert finished his shots and lines first, pulling up with a question, “I was thinking, like, tacos for dinner. What do you think about tacos?”

Gerard was on a different plain though, his far-longer-than 7 minutes in heaven replaying through his head. “Run away with me,” Frank’s request was obviously nothing other than a ludicrous joke, but God, was it tempting. When Gerard finished his evening workout, he replied to the voice in his head with, “Anytime you want.” He’d run away with Frank a thousand times over if it came down to it. 

Bert raised an eyebrow at Gerard. “I mean, that’s a bit extra, but I appreciate the enthusiasm,” he chortled, grabbing a marker. “Tacos for dinner!” he whooped in excitement as he uncapped the sharpie. Bert complained slightly about the length of this phrase, but ultimately managed to make it work, outfitting Gerard’s neck in the words  _ ANYTIME YOU WANT.  _ He replaced the lid onto the marker and grabbed the bottle of jager, heading for the door. “I’m gonna go order food, fuck  _ yeah _ for Taco Tuesday!” 

Gerard considered Bert as he left. “Tacos…?” he muttered to himself in dubiety. Clearly he’d missed out on a conversation between himself and Bert within the last five minutes. He tried not to dwell too much on his worsening memory.

As My Chemical Romance gathered backstage to open the set, Frank made sure to check Gerard’s neck, out of curiosity if anything. He was keeping  _ everyone _ on their toes, not just the press. Sometimes his cryptic messages were an enigma even to Frank, but this wasn’t one of those moments. Gerard was playing the beck and call, and there was no way those three words were for anyone other than him; it was just too perfect. He couldn’t help but beam and giggle restrainedly, like a schoolboy over his first love. He playfully smacked Gerard’s arm in approval before settling beside him as they queued to take the stage. “Is that a promise?” Frank murmured, his cheeks warm with delight.

“It’s a threat,” Gerard confirmed in Frank’s ear, cheekily sliding his hand into Frank’s back pocket. And then they were being sent on stage, hip to hip, Gerard’s hand on his ass and, God, the crowd loved it. 

_ “ONE HAND IN MY POCKET: Emo Boys in Love?” _ , “ _ LOVE LETTERS IN SHARPIE: A Detailed Timeline of Gerard Way’s Messages to Guitarist?”, “IS THAT A HICKEY? Gerard Way x Frank Iero???”  _ The press was relentlessly following the tour at this point, starved for a story about the words on his skin. Which, to be fair, they were actually kind of picking up what he was putting down, but he’d never lead on.

Still, the articles gave him a chuckle. “They’ll really latch onto anything, huh?” Gerard laughed as Matt rolled his eyes at the last story especially. Both Frank and Gerard had completely forgotten the hickey was even a thing to begin with. And, certainly Gerard hadn’t walked on stage with his hand in Frank’s pocket with the intention of attracting extra attention but, nonetheless, it had done the trick. 

*

Gerard and Frank were on the ups, sneaking away to confined spaces in order to take part in some debauchery whenever they could manage. Gerard was stringing Bert along just enough to keep the supply going, but he was favouring Frank as of late. The only problem was that they had run into a stint where it seemed that press coverage was eating up all of their free time;  _ so _ demanding for personal and group interviews. 

Frank sat beside Gerard at yet another group conference in Vegas, bored out of his skull. He’d started his own personal game during the meetings, making it his mission to see how much he could push Gerard’s buttons in the span of each questioning. His hand was nonchalantly running over Gerard’s back, subtle and unseen by the interviewer. He ran his fingertips over Gerard’s spine, turning his face to hide his nose in Gerard’s sheet of hair, nuzzling his ear. He took care not to bump the thick, dark sunglasses off of Gerard’s head. “What would you do to me if I told you nothing was off limits?” Frank whispered against Gerard’s ear, so quiet that even at such a close proximity Gerard had to strain to hear him. They were wearing clip-on microphones, so Frank had taken it upon himself to master the art of whispering.

Gerard tensed, a tiny shudder rippling down his back underneath Frank’s finger pads. As Frank pulled back to smile and nod at the reporter while Ray carried the story, Gerard shot a glare towards Frank. He knew damn well Gerard couldn’t whisper, couldn’t answer that question. This game was so infuriating to Gerard, making him squirm and, worse, making him wait until they got a spare moment to act on any impulses. That often took days with how busy they’d been lately. 

Frank just smiled innocently, kneading Gerard’s back. He spent a while indulging the interviewer who was really trying to pull  _ anything  _ from the posterboys. He made an effort to answer some questions for the both of them so that their manager wouldn’t skin them alive… again. When the questions finally started being directed at Mikey, Frank buried his nose in Gerard’s hair again, smirking and dropping his voice to a sultry whisper, “What if I told you I got a buttplug in Dallas and I’m wearing it right now?”

Gerard tried to keep his facial expressions tame, but he couldn’t help the growing pinkness of his cheeks as Frank triggered the image of himself performing on stage with a plug in his ass, all for Gerard. He shifted uncomfortably as his skinny jeans grew unnaturally tight, covering his lap with his jacket; the room had gotten far too hot for layers at least two whispers ago. Once again, he aimed to attain the effect of sending tiny daggers at Frank in a miserable, tortured glare.

Frank waited for the interviewer to finally wrap up the questions, coaxing a couple of answers from a flustered Gerard. He stood up with the rest of the band after a round of thanks, filing out of the radio lounge to be carted off to the venue. He stared straight forward, smirking, as Gerard’s eyes burned into the side of his head. 

Gerard rode in the very back of the van, sitting next to Frank as the rest of the crew chattered amongst themselves in the front. He casually slid his hand over Frank’s thigh, groping towards the inner with longing. “Was that some kind of sick joke just to get me going?” Gerard muttered, squeezing his thigh.

Frank leaned back against the seat, spreading his legs slightly. “I guess you’ll just have to jump me and find out,” he teased, his voice low and thick. 

Gerard bit his lip, eyes raking over Frank with lust. “Is that a formal invitation?”

“More like a demand,” Frank smirked, taking a page from Gerard’s book.

Gerard hadn’t had time other than that short moment to flirt with Frank, their day had been so hectic, but he always found time for the nightly tradition.

Bert had been on edge for the last week, his mood growing increasingly darker with each passing day that Gerard was tied up with the press, or blowing him off to steal away with Frank. He’d been making snide remarks, but overall letting it boil up until he was fed up completely and chastising Gerard as he divided the rails. “This is getting fucking ridiculous. I’m  _ still  _ seeing articles about that goddamn hickey. Are they true? No, don’t even answer that, they probably fucking are. How fucking selfish can you be? Or maybe I should say careless.  _ Useless,”  _ Bert spat, his voice continually rising the longer he ranted. He grievously poured the shots in one long stream, moving the bottle between cups as the flow splashed onto the table every couple of shots. “I can’t believe you. After everything I’ve done for you, and this is how you repay me? The fucking disrespect, the  _ audacity.”  _ Bert began taking his shots before Gerard had even finished cutting the lines, furious. 

Gerard sat there, taking the assaults on his character with grace. He was getting good at tuning Bert out, at least when he wasn’t shouting at a decibel of ear bleeding rates. Gerard’s mind was honestly a million miles from that room, envisioning Frank in an alley, a venue bathroom, a plush hotel bed-- _ anywhere-- _ with his taut ass splayed out for the taking, a smooth plug sitting snug, begging to be teased. But as Bert’s voice rose, Gerard was forced to at least half-listen, the detailed fantasies dissolving from his mind’s eye. He clenched his jaw and pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance once he had the tray prepped. He started rolling a bill, turning to glower at Bert. “Can you shut the  _ fuck  _ up? I swear to  _ God,  _ Bert,” Gerard snapped, clenching his fists before leaning down to snort his lines. He snatched a couple of shots from Bert’s stockpile between hauls, then savagely pulled up, genuinely ready to fight. “Gonna get it,” he threatened, “Gonna fold your fucking clothes while you’re still in them if you don’t settle the fuck down.” A tiny ass hickey shouldn’t cause anyone to act so out of sorts, but then, Bert was Bert. Gerard was fed up too, though, prepared to stand his ground. But Frank’s innuendos still lurked at the back of his mind and more than anything; he decided the phrase of the night had a dual meaning. 

Bert came up from his last line, a little rattled by the threats. Gerard had stopped him in his tracks, and he couldn’t help but to smile masochistically. “Shit, I didn’t know you had it in you. That’s  _ hot _ ,” Bert purred as he wrote  _ GONNA GET IT  _ on Gerard’s neck. 

Gerard clenched his jaw, annoyed at the pass, but mostly just glad that Bert had piped down. He loosened his fists. “Whatever you want to call it, just chill the fuck out. You’re giving me a headache,” Gerard scowled at the thought that Bert was probably getting off on being berated by him, so he opted to save the rest of his feral words for another time. 

Gerard managed to escape early from Bert’s currently unbearable company, sparing himself a solid half hour before their set started. He sought out Frank, grinning when he located him in the private artists’ bathroom. “Found you,” he trilled, wrapping his arms around him and going for a kiss.

“Whoa, there,” Frank chuckled, stumbling and causing Gerard to catch just the corner of his mouth. “Thought the plan was  _ after  _ the show,” he teased, propping Gerard upright and brushing his hair out of his face to gaze up at him. 

“Thought I’d get in fifteen minutes of bliss if the opportunity presented itself,” he beamed doltishly, sliding his hands down Frank’s back and grabbing his ass enthusiastically. 

Frank’s eyes widened but he laughed giddily, rather surprised. “ _ Gee,”  _ he whined, pressing back into his hands, “Don’t be a tease.” 

“That’s  _ real _ rich coming from you,” Gerard retorted, running his right hand over approximately where the plug would be and pressing a couple of fingers against it through his overworn jeans. He smirked in great satisfaction at the guttural whine he pulled from Frank, imagining how gorgeous he would look all laid out for him when he finally had him alone. Gerard dipped his head down to bite at Frank’s earlobe. “You’re fucking  _ dirty _ , Iero. Oh,” he leered, squeezing his ass and pressing closer, “And to answer your question from earlier - If there were no limits, I’d tie you up in red rope and gag that pretty little mouth, and I’d fuck you with my fingers until I decide you’ve been good enough to deserve to be fucked for real.” Gerard sucked on Frank’s lobe as the smaller man shuddered, melting in Gerard’s grasp. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed, eyelids flitting at the mental image. “You been thinking about the answer to that one all day?” He tried to save face, but Gerard suddenly had him so flustered. 

Gerard smirked, finally letting go of his ass and sliding his hands up Frank’s back, fingers splayed as he pulled back to peer at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he teased. But yes, Frank had hit the nail on the head, as usual. 

Frank tittered but didn’t give Gerard too hard a time over it, surveying his face in amusement. He raised his eyebrows at the sharpie on Gerard’s neck, sniggering smugly and running his fingers over the big words. “You’re definitely gonna get it tonight,” he agreed, leaning forward to kiss Gerard fervently. 

The streetlights reflected dimly on the Vegas palms that were peppering the main outer downtown streets in the desert twilight. It was pushing 2am when Gerard and Frank finally stumbled into an empty alleyway a couple streets over from the venue. They’d tried earlier, but fans kept stopping them for pictures and autographs. The two were well into their second bottles, and they laughed and hiccupped as they found an area that the street lamps didn’t reach, a recluse in the dark, bricked corner of the backstreet.

Frank couldn’t keep his hands off of Gerard, grabbing at his shirt and mouthing along his jaw as they shuffled into a comfortable position in their hideout. “I’ve been waiting for this  _ all day,”  _ he whined, aching for Gerard. 

Gerard turned his face to catch Frank’s lips with his own, kissing him deeply in response. His hands flew to Frank’s belt, trying not to fumble too much as he forced the buckle, button, and zipper open. Gerard wasted no time in pushing both Frank’s jeans and boxers down around his knees, spitting in his hand and pushing his thumb over the head of his cock as their tongues met with great need. Gerard had to compel himself to break the kiss as Frank moaned openly into his mouth. “Turn around and let me see that  _ ass _ ,” he demanded with wild eyes.

“Yes, sir,” Frank said in delight, more or less swinging around as a result of his jeans restraining his knees. He leaned onto the wall and bent slightly at the waist to rest his forearms and palms against the red brick as he shamelessly displayed his pale ass for Gerard.

Gerard used the time Frank was taking to situate himself to undo his own belt, dropping his pants to his ankles and standing behind Frank in his boxers. He purred low in his throat, squeezing his hips. Gerard could’ve fainted when he spread Frank’s ass, so turned on. Leave it to him to choose a buttplug with an onyx stone fitted at the base of it. “Gorgeous,” Gerard breathed, sliding a thumb down his cleft and pushing against the plug. 

Frank groaned, pressing his ass back needily. “Fuck, hurry  _ up,”  _ he pleaded. 

Gerard smirked. “Sorry, just admiring the view,” he wasn’t really sorry. He hooked two fingers around the neck of the plug and slowly eased it out, eliciting a long moan from Frank. He haphazardly dropped it, vaguely hoping it had no sentimental value. “God, you are so  _ fucking _ hot,” Gerard couldn’t help himself commenting, infatuated with Frank. “Do you have condoms?”

Frank breathed in sharply at the realization, “No.” Both of their wallets were in a locker at the venue. 

“Lube?”

A curse, “No.  _ Fuck.”  _

Gerard couldn’t help but laugh. “We’re piss drunk in an alley, you had a plug and I have spit. Next question: D’you  _ care?” _

Frank bit his lip hard, absorbing Gerard’s words. Honestly? He wanted this to happen more than he’d ever wanted anything else before. “No,” Frank assented, “Please,  _ please,  _ just hurry up and  _ fuck me.”  _

Gerard grunted, only needing to be told once. He spread Frank’s ass again, spitting into his hole and then again into his hand as he pushed down his own boxers. He pumped his hand quickly around his member before guiding it to Frank’s rim. He hissed as he eased his cock inside, taking extra care and stopping to spit often since they were without lube. 

Frank groaned, using all of his strength to stop his knees from buckling at the sensation. He persisted, pressing his cheek against the rough brick and squeezing his eyes shut.

“ _ Shit _ ,” Gerard swore, establishing a rhythm as he dug his nails into Frank’s hips. Frank didn’t resist, gasping loudly and making it almost too easy for Gerard to quicken his pace, hard and dirty. Gerard released Frank’s hips, his right hand covering the back of Frank’s hand that was desperately gripping at the wall, their fingers involuntarily intertwining together. His left hand rested in the small of Frank’s back, clutching the tail of his grey t-shirt for leverage, the heel of Gerard’s palm digging into his tailbone as he thrusted wildly. 

Frank cried out as Gerard used the gravity between them to fuck him deeper, hitting his prostate every few thrusts. He was sweating earnestly, biting down on his lip ring so hard that he was sure he was going to leave a dent in the jewelry. 

Gerard breathed vigorously, but worked harder. His left hand slid from the small of Frank’s back to his belly, wrapping around his erection and pumping eagerly, in time with his hips. Gerard pressed himself against Frank’s back, his dress shirt clinging to his chest with sweat, hips bucking erratically as he mouthed wet kisses to the back of Frank’s neck. 

Frank sucked his lips together, biting down on them and whimpering, eyebrows knitted together as he unfurled at Gerard’s will. His thighs shook in an effort to hold himself up and his hips jerked as he came in Gerard’s fist without warning, subconsciously rocking his ass back.

Gerard’s eyes rolled back slightly as Frank clenched around him, his hands flying back to his hips as he fucked into him harder yet. Gerard groaned deeply against the back of Frank’s neck, twitching inside of him as his cum filled Frank’s asshole and his hips jumped in overstimulation. 

Frank gasped and moaned as the warmth spread, but he didn’t protest. His knees started to shake aggressively, sincerely threatening to give way at any second. He sighed in relief and leaned back against Gerard as the taller man securely wrapped his arms around Frank’s chest to keep him standing, and they both grunted as Gerard eased out. Frank let the cum drip onto the asphalt for a few moments as Gerard used a hand to spread Frank’s ass, watching with a possessive look about him. Frank craned his neck back for a long, tender kiss. 

The two of them redressed and took several moments to recoup, dazed from the flurry of sexual tension they’d relieved. Frank reached up and swiped a thumb over the blurred, smudged message on Gerard’s neck that now read as gibberish, entertained. He searched Gerard’s face, admiring his shiny features and mussed hair. “God, I fucking love you,” Frank said with a grin, still a little breathless. 

Gerard leaned down to kiss, pecking him a handful of times on his swollen, bitten lips. “I fucking love you, too,” he reciprocated endearingly, all of the heat from the moment evicted and replaced with a swelling feeling of endless affection for Frank. “We’d better head back before they leave without us,” Gerard snickered to himself after basking in a few beats of contentment. 

Frank laughed lightly as they slowly sauntered back towards the venue, Gerard supporting him as he took each step gingerly. “Our manager’s probably having a fit searching the venue for us right now,” he joked, his arm slung around Gerard’s neck as the orange streetlights exposed them to the night. 

“Let him squirm,” Gerard guffawed, “Worth it.” 

*

“Cunt,” was the first word out of Gerard’s mouth when his head hit the stars and then bounced back into his skull, “Is it just me, or is this coke getting better?”

Bert just laughed maniacally, penning a big, bold, fat  _ CUNT  _ across Gerard’s neck. 

The headlines the next few days were remarkable, really. The likes of “ _ AUTHORITIES WARN PARENTS: Emo Band Brainwashing Teenagers With Derogatory Language,”  _ and “ _ GERARD WAY STRIKES AGAIN: Controversial Language Sparks League of Angry Mothers”.  _ Gerard wore a shit-eating grin, arms folded over his chest in triumph as he sat across from a very, very tired manager who was pinching the bridge of his nose and holding one of the many crumpled, abused articles in his clenched fist. 

*

“God, I missed LA,” it was no secret that Gerard had a special place in his heart for the metropolis, and nothing could bring his mood down in this atmosphere.

“ _ And _ we have tomorrow off. You know what that means,” Bert grinned, also in high spirits.

“Party tonight,” Gerard answered, beaming.

_ “Party tonight!”  _ Bert whooped, his grin widening, “And I’ve got  _ plenty _ of favours.” 

That was at 10am. They were past soundcheck, well into the evening and for the pair, pre-gaming had started hours ago. Gerard was sitting shoulder to shoulder with Bert again, his jaw clenched as he unknowingly grinded his teeth, the bones creaking in protest. His hands shook excessively as he fucked with the impossibly tiny knot that sealed their second gram of the day; the powder was shoved into the corner of a sandwich bag, tied off and cut just above the knot. “Don’t they know cokeheads don’t have the hand coordination for this shit?” Gerard scowled, beyond frustrated. He was chasing a high that only LA could provide him.

Bert laughed, watching Gerard with amusement. “Give it here,” he instructed, holding out his hand, “You pour the shots. It’s almost show time.”

“Shit, really?” Gerard handed over the absurdly small baggie of pearl. Bert worked at the thumbnail sized pouch while Gerard checked the time, shocked at how many hours he’d lost track of. He poured an abundance of shots for the two of them, jager sloshing onto the table every so often due to his unsteady hand. 

Bert had an easier time opening the bag and poured the full contents onto the well-loved tray, crushing and cutting, his movements mechanical. He sat back with satisfaction to look at his handiwork after a few focused minutes.

“Jesus,” Gerard said, arms folded across his chest as his knee bounced erratically. “You trying to fuckin’ kill me?” he gazed at the rows upon rows of rails, the entire gram divided and prepared.

Bert laughed. “Don’t be stupid. Now it’s ready so we don’t have to do it later,” he smirked. 

Gerard raised an eyebrow before breaking into a grin, “Absolute genius.” He rolled his bill, raising a shot to cheers with Bert and tipping it back before snorting his designer dinner. Gerard had to rely on his left nostril because the early afternoon spent abusing his other side had made it so inflamed that the drug was just sitting, coating the base of his right nostril, ineffective and wasted. He actively chose to ignore the fact, willing his left side not to give in on him. With the ritual completed, Gerard turned to Bert, wide-eyed and manic. “ _ Free,”  _ he announced. “We’re free. We’re  _ invincible _ ,” Gerard laughed, leaning back contentedly in his chair so that Bert could ink  _ FREE  _ over his neck. LA made him feel like he could never die. 

Gerard performed the set that night high as a kite, but he would argue that it was one of their best shows. Some people, namely Matt, would not agree, but that was beside the point. Afterwards, he was right back to the tray for a re-up before nursing a mickey to himself as he stood side stage to watch The Used play. By the time Bert bounded off set, Gerard was half a bottle down and standing on a slant. “Good fucking show,” he praised, slinging an arm around his shoulders as they returned to the dressing room. 

Bert laughed, walking beside Gerard, “Started without me, huh?” but he was in too good a mood to pick an actual fight over it. 

“I am  _ too _ fucking drunk,” Gerard announced, his mickey inexplicably empty and his head spinning. 

Bert pushed the dwindling coke tray towards Gerard, laughing at him. “Level out,” he suggested.

Gerard took his advice, rolling and rerolling a five dollar bill at least four times before his unwilling hands cooperated. He leaned down to snort one, two, three lines, stopping when his head was magically cleared and his drunkenness was dulled to a buzz. His thoughts were acute again; Snow White had reeled him all the way back into his shoes and reset him on course for the par. “This shit is magic, I  _ swear _ ,” Gerard said in awe to Bert’s ringing laughter.

The LA venue had quickly turned into a small joint for a secret afterparty, big names popping in downstairs to pay regards to the lineup. Bert and Gerard, though, had remained in their own little world and had only been paid a visit by those interested in their party favours. At this point, pretty much everyone knew what they were about and also that if the two didn’t want to be found, people shouldn’t waste their efforts looking for them. 

Time started to slide forwards and back, melting away as Bert and Gerard drank themselves stupid and cracked open the third part of the eight ball to keeping grounding themselves. Rinse and repeat. Gerard was losing touch with his surroundings more rapidly with each shot he took, but he was actually enjoying Bert’s company and was in no panic to stop the growing lurching feeling. 

Gerard started to phase in and out of reality, only vaguely aware of the additional lines and drinks he was consuming. His mind was so heavily intoxicated that he was blacking out, partying on with Bert but frequently forgetting where he was and what he was doing. He had never reached this far into oblivion, and he was having the time of his life. 

Frank wasn’t doing too poorly for himself either in terms of picking up Gerard’s slack. He’d gone looking for the lead earlier, politely excusing himself from Billie Joe Armstrong’s company. The whole venue was empty of fans and full of celebrities, a sight to behold. The place had all walks from the industry milling about all areas of the venue; nothing was restricted. But of course, Frank had found Gerard and Bert holed up in Bert’s dressing room, empty mickeys and mini solo cups littering the table. He watched with a constricted feeling in his throat as Gerard ruthlessly indulged, oblivious to anything other than his vices. Frank had turned on his heel and swore to himself that he wouldn’t go looking for Gerard for the remainder of the night unless the taller came looking for him first. He’d managed to push Gerard to the back of his mind with help from a couple of perkies. He was well under the influence, enjoying the company of a small group, half-following a story Pete Wentz was telling. 

“And he drank  _ all  _ of it!” Pete said in regards to… garlic butter, Frank thought? He couldn’t be sure, because it just didn’t make sense for Patrick Stump to be drinking garlic butter, but it got a rise of laughter from those surrounding him. 

Frank chuckled along unclearly, hovering for a while before eventually excusing himself from this conversation, too. “God damn, gotta piss,” Frank joked goodnaturedly, “Broke the seal too early.” The surrounding fellowship assented and slapped his back in fondness as he weaved his way out of the thick of the party. He was pretty sure he’d seen the general venue bathrooms near this lounge, and that would do. 

Frank absentmindedly ran his hand along the wall as he traipsed towards the washroom, pushing open the door and stopping upon hearing the unmistakable sound of head being given. He smirked amusedly, peering under the only stall in the men’s washroom to confirm his suspicions. “Who’s getting lucky?” he teased, putting a hand on the top of the stall door. It was unlocked. Frank was just intoxicated enough to consider it funny to expose the pair, and he wasn’t really thinking all that smartly when he swung open the door, laughing at the prank. 

His face went pale, instant regret washing over him. All he could make of the kneeling subject was the unmistakable sheen of long, greasy, stringy hair as his head bobbed eagerly. And the receiver was none other than Gerard, his pants barely down around his thighs. He sat slumped on the toilet seat, eyes rolling as strangled moans escaped his lips.

Gerard’s right hand tugged unceremoniously at Bert’s hair while his left dangled limply at his side. His mind was on autopilot, body reacting how his brain deduced it should. Gerard tilted his chin back in pleasure and as his eyelids hazily slid open, he made direct eye contact with Frank. Seeing the tattooed guitarist standing outside of the stall jostled Gerard with the realization that the person on their knees was, in fact,  _ not  _ Frank, and that this was all wrong. 

He rapidly tried to remember just how much liquor he’d consumed. Two mickeys? Three? And the blow, God, he couldn’t keep track of it if he tried. He attempted to recall what he was doing before he was in the bathroom or, better yet, how the fuck he had ended up there in the first place, but he was drawing a blank. He couldn’t even dream up the kind of conversation he’d had with Bert to get here, quickly realizing that he had fully blacked out and was only just tuning back in at the sight of Frank. He’d lost God only knew how many hours, and this probably looked  _ really  _ bad. He should be grovelling to Frank, explaining himself, but... which was worse, losing control of himself so badly that he’d been acting involuntarily, or seemingly purposely letting Bert go down on him? 

All of this jolted Gerard in a split second as Frank’s betrayed eyes pierced his hazel ones, silently demanding an explanation. He opted to take the side of denial, refusing to mentally unpack the connotations behind Bert coaxing him into this situation. “A mouth’s a mouth,” Gerard spat hoarsely, causing Bert to jump a little. He had no idea why he’d felt compelled to lie, but Frank gave him zero seconds to eat his words.

A deeply hurt look spread entirely across his face. “ _ Fuck  _ you, G,” he gasped as a sharp stab of panic pierced his heart. “Fuck  _ both  _ of you. You’re the worst thing to have happened to us, McCracken,” Frank’s voice caught and he turned abruptly to leave, allowing neither of them time to make excuses.

As Bert lifted his head to smugly watch Frank go, Gerard used a booted foot to shove him back by his shoulder, sending him off his knees and onto his ass. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Gerard started, anxiety rising in his voice. 

“What are you  _ talking  _ about?” Bert scowled, picking himself up, “You were loving me a second ago.”

Gerard shook his head, disgusted, “That’s… no, that’s impossible. How did we get here, Bert?” Gerard was exasperated, his voice dripping in accusation.

“You  _ must _ be kidding me,” Bert’s laugh was beyond mean. “If you can’t answer that, you’re fucked. You  _ wanted  _ me,” he defended himself, unanswering of the question. Bert stood up, staggering slightly as he glared down at Gerard, “Look at you. Fucking pathetic.” He turned to leave but stopped short, spinning back around to throw another gram of blow at an emotionally wounded Gerard’s feet. “Considering the coke whore you’re acting like, you’ll probably need this. Good fucking luck getting it open with those  _ shakes _ ,” Bert hissed, staring pointedly at Gerard’s sleepless, quaking hands. With that, Bert left him to unsteadily clean and berate himself, wondering the severity of what exactly he had just done (or not done), wide-eyed as his mind raced unforgivingly.

Frank stumbled through the venue halls, vision blurry as he knocked past undistinguished bodies, uncaring.  _ “A mouth’s a mouth,”  _ was screaming in his ears, unmatched by any other sound in his vicinity. He couldn’t believe he had been telling himself it was “just a kiss”. He should’ve known. But then, he and Gerard had never uttered the words “boyfriends”, they had never had any discussion of exclusivity. Was  _ he _ in the wrong? No, despite how irrational he may be acting, he tried to convince himself that his reaction to the betrayal was valid. No amount of percocets would drown the feeling of his heart being ripped to bits. After everything they’d had together, he felt as if Gerard personally holding a knife to his throat and slowly draining his life would be a less cruel fate in contrast to the trivial comparison of Bert’s mouth to his own. 

Frank aggressively wiped his face of tears, his mind destructive as he carelessly burst into another dressing room. All he knew was that he needed clippers and some bleach, and his best bet was The Used’s guitarist. Quinn had superficial hair dyed as close to platinum blonde as a box could supply. Frank dug through his contents, heart racing as he located Quinn’s shaving kit. He genuinely could not help but laugh through his tears when he actually located a box of dye; these guys were so predictable. Frank grabbed the bleach and clippers from the shaving kit, rubbing his face on his shoulder to catch stray tears as he hightailed it out of the disturbed dressing room. 

Frank made sure to avoid the men’s washroom, assuming Gerard was still  _ enjoying _ himself. He found his feet taking him to the ladies’ instead. He plugged the clippers into an outlet above the sink and stared at himself in the mirror as he buzzed down the sides of his head, leaving but a quarter inch of fuzz. Frank’s tears were gone, replaced with raw treachery and anger. He clenched his jaw so hard he could envision it snapping off of his skull. He haphazardly finished shaving the sides of his head, achieving a soft mohawk, the remainder of his bangs hanging in his eyes. He glared at his reflection, his fists subconsciously clenched, wrists burning as his knuckles faded to white. Without thought, Frank cried out, pulling a fist back and smashing it into the mirror. The glass cracked rapidly, ricocheting outwards from Frank’s freshly bloodied knuckles and creating a spider web’s effect. The bottom right corner of the pane dangled, holding on for a moment longer before dropping to the ground and shattering at his feet. He pulled back from the blood-spattered mirror, picking a few shards of glass from his aching hand as a couple of stray, angry tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. 

Frank stared at himself in the distorted, jagged mess of mirror. He rubbed the side of his temple for several moments and eventually willed himself to press on. He ripped open the box of bleach, very lightly skimming the instructions before mixing the contents and pulling on the thin plastic gloves that the box provided. He wasted no time slathering the freshly buzzed hair with the bleach, scarily numb and void of emotion at this point. He vaguely wondered if this was what a mental breakdown felt like. Still Frank stood there in the women’s washroom, working the bleach into his hair, eyes practically unblinking. 

He was nearly done applying the dye to his hair when an intruder entered the bathroom, proving to be equally as surprised as Frank was. “Whoa. There’s a lot to unpack here,” the woman chuckled, if not slightly nervous. Then a look of comprehension dawned on her face, “...Frank?” she said, unsure solely because of the bleached, somewhat bloody state that he was in. “I’m Jamia. We met briefly at the album release, I think? I was with the stylists.”

“Oh, yeah,” Frank said vaguely, wondering if she was about to whip around and tell security that one of the hosts was having a breakdown in the women’s washroom. 

Jamia took another cautious step towards Frank, who looked like a deer in headlights, “Are you okay? Can… can I at least help you? Looks like you missed a spot,” she gingerly pointed with a black fingernail to a dark patch of hair that Frank couldn’t see. 

Frank’s face softened a little and he shuffled his feet, deciding, “Yeah, okay. Thanks.” His responses were coming from a shell, destroyed by heartbreak. It wasn’t at all the energetic, excitable demeanor Jamia recalled. 

She closed the space between them, gently guiding him to stand in front of the second (and last) unbroken mirror. “For starters, it might help if we use a functional mirror,” she teased, smiling warmly and squeezing Frank’s shoulders comfortingly, “Now, give me the bleach and clippers so I can fix this up.” 

*

“ _ BLONDE BOY: Frank Iero’s Breakdown”, “FROM PUNK TO EMO: MCR Guitarist Changes Pace”, “INVERTED SKUNK: We Can’t Tell if We Love or Hate It”.  _ Mikey sighed at the incessant headlines, wishing he could shield Frank and keep him in the dark. Of course, the press will latch onto anything, but when a dude is at an underground party and emerges from a women’s washroom with a completely different hairstyle - well, word gets around quickly in Hollywood. “They’ll forget about it in a week. Besides, the fans have been going nuts over you. It looks good, dude,” Mikey consoled a gloomy Frank, squeezing his shoulder. 

Frank sighed harshly and rubbed the heel of his hand against the blonde fuzz; he’d been subconsciously doing that a lot lately. “That’s the least of my worries,” he mumbled, refusing to meet Mikey’s eyes.

Mikey was quiet for a few moments, weighing his options. Ultimately, he dared to ask, “Was it Gee?” 

Frank tensed slightly at the mention of the name, squeezing his eyes shut and scrunching his nose at the unpleasant images replaying in his brain. “Of course it was,” Frank confirmed, “What else could it be?” he leaned into Mikey who wrapped his arms around him without hesitation. 

Mikey sighed, chewing on the inside of his cheek and rubbing Frank’s upper arm. Gerard was making him embarrassed, worried, annoyed, disheartened, the list went on. He felt for Frank. “D’you wanna talk about it over some scripts?” he smiled sadly, empathetically pressing a little orange bottle of pills into Frank’s hand. 

Frank reluctantly concurred, swallowing a pill and shifting to lay his head in Mikey’s lap. He let his legs dangle over the couch’s arm while they lounged around the dressing room, waiting for the effects to kick in. Frank honestly wasn’t sure what city they were in anymore; with Bert around, every venue was starting to feel the same no matter where they went. He closed his eyes and let Mikey run his fingers through his hair, soothed. Mikey occasionally traced Frank’s browbone to his temple and proceeded to massage his fingertips against Frank’s buzzcut, patient and gentle. 

Eventually, the strain and anxiety worked its way out of Frank’s face and he managed to start piecing thoughts together as he tried to make sense of it all. “He said, ‘ _ a mouth’s a mouth’,”  _ Frank finally whispered, eyes still closed because he couldn’t bear to look at Mikey. He found himself launching into a retelling of his perspective, how he was pretty sure Gerard had been playing him like the fool he was, making Frank believe he’d been anything more than a warm body, a plaything. Just like Bert. 

Frank lost track of himself a few times as tears started leaking from his eyes. Mikey listened with disgust, eyebrows knitted as he tenderly wiped away each tear that slid down the sides of his face. Frank stopped frequently to take shuddering breaths and Mikey attempted to continue to wipe away the tears but they were flowing earnestly now. He resolved to thumb at the sides of Frank’s face every few seconds instead, securely cradling his jaws in his hands. Mikey rested his right elbow on his own thigh, his left lightly on Frank’s chest. Frank gripped Mikey’s forearm as if grounding himself, glad for the encasement. Being held like this was the only thing other than the percocet that was keeping him from spiralling into a full blown panic attack, possibly the  _ only _ thing keeping the very air in his lungs and heart in his chest.

Frank let out a few strangled sobs as he neared the end of his depiction of the night, pressing his cheek into Mikey’s palm for solace. He gave them both a chuckle as he detailed how he stole Quinn’s dye and, yes, had his little breakdown in the ladies’ washroom. When the words stopped spilling after a mention of Jamia, Frank’s eyes fluttered open, vision blurry. “So… yeah,” he trailed off, drained from recounting the painfully fresh memories. 

Mikey drew a deep breath, finding it easier to offer physical comfort rather than verbal. That was where Ray came in with his elegant way of involuntarily forcing a smile onto anyone’s face. Instead, he just said what came to mind first, “Frankie, I’m so, so sorry that my brother can be such a fucking prick sometimes.” 

Frank laughed a little, reaching up to squeeze Mikey’s shoulder. He honestly felt a weight lifted off of his chest; he hadn’t spoken of the party in detail until this moment. “Thanks, Mikey,” Frank said softly, appreciative. 

*

A week had passed and the air between Gerard and the rest of the band was still frigid. Despite the degree of knowledge of Frank’s episode, they’d all taken the defensive, speaking to Gerard as little as possible. Frank was heartbroken, unable to even make eye contact. Ray was annoyed and playing the tough love trope, and Matt was just straight up pissed off. Mikey was feeling a little bit of everything; he was sick of the elephant in the room, Gerard’s blatant disregard for them, and the tense, wordless moments between interviews and shows. More importantly, even more rumours were starting to float around, alleging trouble in paradise both within the band, and in attempt to link Frank’s breakdown to Gerard. 

It was inevitable, and eventually it was Mikey’s turn to corner Gerard backstage, unable to silently let him self-destruct. If the manager couldn’t get through to him, maybe Mikey could. “We need to talk,” he said, catching even himself off guard with how demanding his voice sounded. 

Gerard’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “What about?” he replied, laying the innocence on thick. 

“Don’t give me that bullshit. Where have you  _ been,  _ Gee?” Mikey wasn’t expecting to head off course so quickly, but there he was, smacking Gerard upside the head and frankly, not regretting it. 

“Ow!” Gerard scowled, rubbing his temple and ear. He adjusted his attitude, trying out a different perspective, “Okay… well, clearly I’ve not been  _ with  _ the band. It’s fucking freezing in here. What gives?” If Gerard slowed down enough to admit it, he couldn’t deny the rejection he was feeling. 

“ _ Seriously?” _ Mikey pinched the bridge of his nose, his glasses sliding down. He drew a levelled breath, trying to remind himself that Gerard wasn’t seeing clearly these days. “When’s the last time we had a proper conversation? Before tour? Before the tour before this one? I’m your fucking brother, man,” Mikey couldn’t mask the genuine hurt in his voice.

Gerard’s cocky manner faltered at the honesty Mikey was serving him. “I…” he trailed off, gnawing on his lip. Suddenly riddled with guilt, he couldn’t bring himself to continue deflecting. “I’m sorry, man. I… I got lost on the way,” Gerard frowned, staring at his feet, “So fucking lost.” He didn’t need to explain further, they both knew. 

Mikey’s face softened a bit and he unclenched his jaw, “Fuck, dude, we miss you.  _ I _ miss you. And do you even  _ know  _ what you’re doing to Frank?” 

Gerard looked away at the mention of Frank, hating himself. “Yeah. I know,” he deadpanned. A couple of tears made their way down his white, thinning face. He didn’t know what else to say. He had no idea how to fix things with Frank.

Mikey pursed his lips, hurting for Gerard. He abruptly hugged him, his arms more or less crushed to his side underneath Mikey’s. “I’m sorry it went down like this,” he mumbled against Gerard’s shoulder, empathetic. 

Gerard’s eyes widened in surprise and he lifted his arms as much as he could to pat Mikey’s back, kind of just letting it happen and relaxing into the hug. He closed his eyes, a few more unsolicited tears slipping. “Me too,” he agreed. Gerard wanted so badly to patch things up, but he had no idea where to start or what to say to any of them. He felt estranged and dejected, at a loss, but he was also semi-thankful. If anything, his brother had planted a seed worth considering, and it crossed Gerard’s mind for just a split second to hit the breaks and ditch the chemical lifestyle. 

  
Gerard was trying, but not very hard. When he and his brother parted ways, Gerard spent a long time in his dressing room thinking about what Mikey had said. He considered a life of sobriety, trying to picture what that would look like. He tried to come up with what he would say to Frank; certainly it had to be something better than the weak ass material he supplied Mikey. He sat around waiting for show time, biting his nails, chainsmoking, and picking at his arms as he tried to convince himself he didn’t need substance to play the set. But like clockwork, when the allotted time rolled around, Gerard’s craving was insatiable. He couldn’t bear it any longer. His arms were peppered in pin sized droplets of blood from his ceaseless picking. He couldn’t be distracted from the burning need for a bump.    
There was only one problem; he and Bert weren’t speaking either. He’d spanned out the gram Bert had thrown at him for as long as he could, trying to be conservative with his use, but it was gone within a few days. He’d broken into Bert’s dressing room once already, rooting around for another and finding it without too much of an effort. Bert hadn’t said anything about it, but now that powder was gone too. Gerard wondered how many times he could get away with stealing before he got himself into trouble. Still, his appetite was stronger than his will to call it quits, and his feet quickly carried him to Bert’s quarters. 

Gerard cracked the door, peering in. He was relieved to find it empty and let himself in, expecting to have to look even harder for the blow this time around. But to his surprise, Gerard found a neat little baggie sitting on the table, as if inviting him. It was like Bert knew he would come back for more, was expecting him, and had no qualms continuing to supply. Gerard didn’t dwell on it for too long, avoiding getting into the nitty gritty of Bert’s intentions. Instead he counted it as a blessing, swiping the pearl from the table and heading back to his own dressing room to indulge in the tradition on his lonesome. 

Gerard went through the motions, rationing himself less than he would’ve liked, but enough to get him through the set. When he finished the task, he pulled his head up, staring at himself in the mirror over the vanity he sat at. He felt instant regret and guilt, resenting himself for continuing to let down Mikey, Frank, everyone. “Miss you,” he whispered to the dead air, feeling so fucking alone. Tour might as well be a jail cell at this point. 

He located a sharpie and focused with great effort as he attempted to write  _ MISS YOU  _ across his own neck. His lines were shaky but he got the job done, sitting back to look at his handiwork. It would do just fine. 

Gerard stood back stage, tapping his foot repeatedly as he waited for the rest of the boys to queue up for the show. They’d been making a habit of showing up last minute as a group, giving Gerard cold stares but no words. He was anxious that they’d be able to tell he was high after Mikey had literally just given him shit for it. He was a liar and a fake full of wishy washy promises. Gerard huffed and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, forbidding the thoughts as the rest of the band showed face. He gave a half-hearted smile but was met with minimal enthusiasm. 

Mikey caught sight of Gerard’s neck and frowned, stepping forward to get a closer look. “ _ Dude _ ,” he said, unimpressed and exasperated. 

Gerard frowned, confused, “What?” Was it really that obvious?

Mikey rolled his eyes, annoyed. Yeah, he could tell Gerard was high, “The S’ are fucking backwards.” 

Gerard’s eyes widened in realization and horror. The god damn mirror. Every letter in  _ MISS YOU  _ was perfectly symmetrical… except for the S’. So his neck read off  _ MI _ _ ƧƧ YOU,  _ and he had absolutely no time to fix it. “I-” Gerard started, but Mikey turned away from him without another word, appalled. He bit his tongue, his heart full of dread and self-loathing. 

Gerard didn’t have much time to think of anything more because they were being ushered on stage. He obliged, playing his part and trying to center himself around putting on a good show for the fans instead of dwelling on the plethora of demons that were presently assaulting his mental health. He had stopped attempting to interact with the rest of the band a few shows ago because they wouldn’t entertain his antics, resolved in their own instruments. He had started to save himself the embarrassment by associating with the fans more than usual, as much as possible, really. 

“Where the searchlights find us drinking on the mausoleum floor,” that night as he launched into Cemetery Drive, Gerard turned towards Frank, uncaring of whether he was given the time of day, “And  _ you  _ found  _ me  _ on the bathroom floor,” Gerard intentionally changed the lyrics as he sang to Frank.

Frank’s cheeks burned, but he refused to meet Gerard’s broken eyes, staring down at the strings as his fingers worked along the neck of his guitar. Frank had started going all out, his eyes painted red with giant black X’s across his lids. If the press wanted to call him emo, he’d make it his entire personality. 

“I miss you, I miss you so far,” Gerard sang, sweating, tears possibly mixing with the sweat as Frank ignored him. He felt so raw pining after the guitarist, “And the collision of your kiss that made it so hard…” Gerard turned back to the crowd, singing the beginning of the next verse earnestly with them before returning to Frank. “So I won’t stop dying…  _ can’t  _ stop lying, if you want I’ll keep on crying,” he dropped to his knees and Frank caught a proper glimpse of him, tears involuntarily sliding down Gerard’s cheeks from the effort to form a connection with him, “Did  _ we  _ get what  _ we  _ deserved? Is this what you always want me for?” 

Frank bit his lip ring, unable to help himself from gazing at Gerard in this state. His heart ached so badly as he desired for things to return to the way they once were. He missed Gerard and was sorry, too, but he wasn’t sure if that would ever be enough. How could they even fix something like this, let alone by doing it publicly, on stage, within a song?

Gerard dragged his hand across his neck, exposing the semi-backwards ink to Frank, just thankful that he hadn’t turned away. “Well, I miss you…” he was practically shouting, grovelling at Frank’s feet, trying so hard to apologize  _ somehow _ . He could only hope he got the message across, because he was finding it alarmingly impossible to read Frank’s face. He’d never felt more divided from his best friend. 

When their encore ended, Gerard walked off the set, heart beating wildly. He passed by Bert who shot a knowing smirk in his direction. Gerard averted his eyes, feeling culpable and predictable. To his dismay, Frank beelined away from him once they were off stage. He didn’t take the time to seek Gerard out or even so much as comment on his personalized performance of Cemetery Drive: good, bad, or indifferent. Instead, the tattooed boy evaded his company, noiselessly crushing his spirits and leaving him feeling abandoned. Naturally, there was only one way Gerard knew how to cope with Frank’s dismissal. 

*

Frank was walking with Ray through a park in Seattle. Between the interviews, the shows, the repetitive dressing rooms, and the bad blood, they both needed a breather from it all. Ray held a used and reused plastic water bottle in his hand, the label ripped and crinkled from often refilling it with a sterile-smelling clear liquid. He wasn’t one to flaunt his vices, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have his faults. He took a swig from the crumpled bottle, unwincing, as he walked beside his short companion; Frank was none the wiser. Frank filled Ray in on the broader details of his heartache as they walked underneath the canopy of enormous hundred-year-old trees, their full, lush boughs acting like natural umbrellas that barely resided above their heads. Frank was pleasantly surprised and relieved that when he officially came out to Ray in the same fashion as he had come out to Mikey, the towering man wasn’t phased. Ray even acted almost expectantly to hear Frank finally utter about his hopeless attachment to Gerard. He was somehow always a step ahead, in the know, an inexplicably wise and old soul. 

Ray listened thoughtfully as Frank glossed over the big picture, catching him up and filling him in on the missing pieces. Dirt and gravel crunched under their feet as the sun shone through the thick green leaves of the covered path, starting to set in a pink glow over the calm horizon. Frank tapered off from his rant about Gerard’s most recent betrayal, but Ray was considering it from another perspective. He knew Gerard too, after all. “Have you tried talking to G at  _ all,  _ nugget?” he inquired as gently as he could, not wanting it to land as an accusation. 

Frank pursed his lips, peering up at Ray’s knowing face. Damn him. “Why you gotta call me out like that?” Frank half-smiled, nudging into Ray and kicking rocks as they meandered towards the sunset. 

Ray smiled back, wrapping an arm around Frank’s shoulders in slight amusement. “That’s what I thought. Have you considered that it may not be exactly what it looked like?” he pondered, playing the devil’s advocate. 

Frank looked at Ray in confusion, “What else could it  _ possibly _ be? You know what he said, and I definitely wasn’t imagining what I  _ saw _ .” 

“And you know  _ Gerard _ ,” Ray countered, his eyes wandering back to the broken rays of sunset, “Something just doesn’t feel right, Frankie. I really think you should talk to him. Just…  _ ask,”  _ he advised, “Because, honestly? I don’t think he meant it. Not after seeing him the other night.” Ray’s curls bounced freely as they paced, softening his aura. 

Frank frowned, unbelieving, “Are you talking about when we played Cemetery Drive? What, you don’t think that was an act?”

Ray stopped abruptly, pulling Frank up short with him as he turned to look at the doubtful man. “A  _ fool _ could barely be paying attention and still be able to tell that Gerard is killing himself over this, over you. And I know you’re no fool,” Ray said, wholeheartedly believing his own words. “ _ Just ask _ ,” he urged again, almost chiding him, his hands moving to squeeze Frank’s shoulders in emphasis. 

Frank’s cheeks flushed faintly and he looked up into Ray’s mahogany eyes, feeling squeamish in the presence of his unfaltering confidence. “Okay…” Frank said softly, reluctantly. He huffed, “ _ Okay,  _ okay,” a bit more emphatically upon Ray’s disapproving look. “I’ll talk to him,” Frank promised. 

“Atta boy,” Ray swelled, enveloping Frank in a giant bear hug, lifting him off of his toes and easily ignoring any stares. Frank couldn’t help but laugh. Ray would just be glad if he and Gerard finally cleared the air so that the band could comfortably hang out again. He didn’t let it get to him very much, but Ray sometimes felt like an afterthought too. He missed the simpler days that involved nothing but an ounce of weed and a group of friends surrounding a gaming table littered with DnD character sheets. 

Frank and Ray managed to catch a last glimpse of the Seattle sunset before hitching it back to the venue. Frank thanked his friend for the brief reprise from the mundane, and parted to find Gerard as he promised Ray he would. He paced mindlessly around the venue for a while, anxiously putting off the task. When he couldn’t procrastinate any longer, Frank headed for Gerard’s dressing room, hoping he wouldn’t find him in the middle of anything. He let out a breath of slight relief when he peered in and saw Gerard just sitting around killing time, but he felt a pang of guilt too. He seemed so antsy and  _ lonely _ . 

Frank knocked on the door frame and pushed the door open slightly, causing Gerard’s head to shoot up, eyes wild and startled. He wasn’t expecting any visitors, let alone Frank, but immediately stood up, trying to remember a shred of his manners. “Frank,” he breathed, unsure of his intentions but glad to see him regardless, “Come in,” he invited.

Frank smiled lopsidedly at Gerard’s insecure demeanor, letting himself in and shutting the door behind him. God, he wanted so badly to close the space between them and kiss Gerard, to hug him, breathe him in. It had been weeks since they’d had a moment of shared joy. Instead, Frank cautiously stepped forward, getting a good look at him for the first time in what felt like forever. As Gerard watched him nervously, waiting for him to say something, Frank drank in his sickly features. He was shocked to find Gerard had grown so gaunt in such a short time, his face thin and white as snow, eyes sunken and sleepless. He wondered if the red makeup was making his eyes look extra strained around the edges, or if it was everything else that was happening. Gerard held his breath as Frank searched his face, both of their hearts beating rapidly over all of the possible things Frank could open with. The entire situation was in his control. But something about the way Gerard’s face looked akin to a stray dog, kicked and beaten, told Frank that Ray was right. Something much worse had happened, something was  _ wrong.  _

Frank took another few steps toward Gerard, gingerly taking both of his hands into his own, thumbing at his knuckles. Gerard’s hands were ice cold and vibrating. “Did you really mean it?” Frank whispered. Of all the things he could’ve said first, and he chose a selfish focal point, albeit one that had been haunting him. But he didn’t even ask if Gerard was okay?  _ Stupid.  _

Gerard furrowed his brows and cocked his head somewhat to the side, trying to catch up to where Frank’s mind was at. “Mean what?” he asked, unsure of the context. Was he asking about Cemetery Drive?

Frank squeezed his eyes shut for a second, feeling heat in his cheeks, embarrassed. “Mouth’s a mouth,” Frank whispered, his voice reluctant and barely audible. 

Gerard’s eyebrows shot up in realization and he immediately squeezed Frank’s hands. “Frankie…  _ no,  _ God, I’m so  _ sorry _ ,” he choked.

Frank averted his eyes, looking at the floor and considering breaking their grasp. “You seemed like you meant it,” he said, voice gravelly with pain. 

Gerard clutched Frank’s hands intensely, just wanting to pull him forward into an embrace. “I think… I think I blacked out,” Gerard finally admitted, both to himself and Frank, frowning deeply. “I’ve never been that far gone before, Frank… I… I lost a  _ shit  _ ton of time,” Gerard was breathing a bit raggedly, everything about his body language begging for Frank to believe him. He didn’t want this to sound like a piss poor excuse, but he was paranoid that it did. 

Frank frowned too, meeting Gerard’s desperate eyes, yielding to him, “So… what  _ do  _ you remember?” he asked, rather afraid of the answer. 

Gerard chewed on the inside of his cheek, dreading having to think about it, let alone answer the question aloud. He owed Frank that much, though, and shakily started trying to navigate his memory. “The last thing I remember before you found me, I was in the dressing room. I  _ swear _ , we were there all night. But then we weren’t, and  _ literally _ next thing I was seeing you. I was  _ gone  _ until you walked in on us and… and I panicked when I said that,” Gerard frowned. “I… I don’t know how I got there. I don’t remember even flirting with Bert. I…” Gerard trailed off, horror dawning on his face. “When you left, I kicked Bert off, and he wouldn’t tell me how we got there… He just said that I wanted him,” Gerard’s face was somehow whiter than before. 

Frank frowned deeply, realizing what Gerard was trying to say, “You mean…?”

“Only Bert knows what actually happened,” Gerard breathed, looking at Frank with genuine panic. “Frankie, what did I  _ do _ ?” Gerard’s voice caught in his throat, trying so hard to remember but, still, coming up with nothing. 

Frank’s face hardened at Gerard’s explanation. Everything was sliding into place, making sense. Of course he’d been wrong, jumped the gun. It was so much worse than his initial assumption, and it was Frank that had proven to be the selfish prick. He hated himself for shutting out Gerard without explanation, feeling reproachable. “You didn’t do  _ anything _ wrong. G, I’m so fucking sorry,” Frank said, immediately releasing Gerard’s hands and pulling him into a tight hug instead, “This is all on Bert. Fuck, I’m sorry I didn’t ask sooner. I’m  _ so _ sorry,” Frank whispered into Gerard’s hair, the connotations hitting him like a brick, too.

Gerard instantly started crying, assaulted with relief, fear, confusion. Now that he was uncovering the implications of what had happened at the party, he felt dirty and... unfaithful. “No,  _ I’m _ sorry Frankie, I fucked up so bad. I drank too much, it’s my own fault. It wouldn’t have ever happened if I didn’t black out. It’s my fault, my fault, I’m so fucking sorry, it’s my fault,” Gerard clung to Frank, his breath shuddering with anxiety as he worked himself up, scared of himself and even more-so of Bert. 

Frank couldn’t stop the lump in his throat, his own tears spilling over at the sound of Gerard’s wretched repenting. He hugged him harder before pulling back, taking Gerard’s blotched face in his hands. Frank looked at him earnestly, shaking his head vigorously, “Holy shit,  _ don’t _ apologize, I had no idea… I thought... It’s  _ not _ your fault, Gee. Bert, he… he took advantage of you. We’ll cut Guys Like Us… from the setlist.  _ Fuck  _ him. Don’t cry, Gee, we’ll fix this,” he said helplessly, tears hypocritically streaming down his own cheeks. 

Gerard shook his head too, pressing his cheek into Frank’s palm. God, he’d missed his touch. “I’ll get sober,” Gerard said pleadingly, “I’ll never do blow or drink again. I’m so sorry, Frankie, I swear I’ll get clean and this will never happen again.” 

Frank smiled sorrowfully at the empty promise, knowing better. “Even if you don’t,” Frank evaded the proclamation, “I’ll still love you, forever,” he said softly.

Gerard’s face wavered slightly at Frank’s disbelief, but he focused on the pledge, whispering, “And ever?”

“And ever,” Frank promised, “Until the day we’re both in the ground.”

Gerard’s tears were slowing, heart no longer threatening to burst from his chest. “But… I’m the only one that makes you cry,” he said uncertainly, afraid that Frank was speaking out of sympathy and not genuity. 

“Yeah… you’re a heart attack in black hair dye,” Frank agreed sadly, but he pressed forward and kissed Gerard firmly, their lips both damp from tears. 

Gerard’s breath caught at the abruptness and he kissed back needily, his hands knotting in the back of Frank’s shirt. 

When Frank pulled away, he smiled softly at Gerard, thumbing away the stray tears on his cheeks, “What’s love without a little pain, anyway?” 

“Yeah,” Gerard agreed weakly, smiling half-heartedly and gently rubbing at Frank’s fuzz. “The blonde looks really good, by the way,” he complimented, eliciting a surprised laugh from Frank. 

Frank and Gerard walked, hand in hand, to queue for the set. Mikey and Ray were both more than relieved that they’d finally cleared the air, and had helped the boys go through the logistics of removing Guys Like Us… from the setlist. In theory, they’d just nix it, but because it was part of the tour deal, they’d had to jump through hoops in the short time they had allotted before the set. Eventually their manager caved and somehow made things work once Frank started threatening to bite someone.

After that issue was squared off, Frank followed Gerard back to his dressing room, trying to make up for lost time by not leaving his side. Gerard eventually broke down, making excuses (“Been getting the shakes real bad”) to indulge in a toned-down version of the ritual. Gerard painfully rationed himself only two lines and three shots. 

Frank knew it was coming, and he had chosen to stick around, so he turned away to allow some privacy, accepting Gerard’s explanation without flack. Frank smiled a little as Gerard pulled up with, “And ever.” He thumbed at his jaw with mixed feelings before inking  _ AND EVER  _ across his neck for him. 

They painted their faces together, Gerard borrowing Frank’s black makeup to darken the entire strip across his temples, eyes, and the bridge of his nose while Frank smeared red around his eyes and drew charcoal X’s across his lids. 

As they stood, waiting for their cue to play, Bert stormed towards them with fury in his face, having caught wind of the altered setlist. “How fucking  _ dare  _ you?” He spat, beyond pissed off, “ _ My _ band is the  _ only _ reason you’re famous, and how the fuck do you think the press is going to react to this?” He was practically yelling. 

Gerard’s eyes widened and he flinched in distress, Bert’s voice mirroring his tone from the night in question. 

Frank gripped Gerard’s hand tightly in solidarity, unmoving. “Fuck you, Bert. You had it coming,” Frank stood their ground. 

“I’ll fucking  _ sue _ for broken contract. I’ll have you kicked off tour, you unstable fucking  _ brat, _ ” Bert threatened, his voice poison. 

“ _ Fuck you _ ,” Frank snarled, “No one likes a rapist,” he was a little shocked by himself, but he figured that if it weren’t for him walking in when he did, Bert would be as good as one, “Touch G  _ ever _ again and I’ll make sure you have just enough life left in you to regret it.” 

“Rapist?  _ Please _ ,” Bert barked a mean laugh as his eyes wandered to Gerard. “ _ Really _ , that’s what you’re telling everyone? So you’re a slut  _ and  _ a liar,” he accused a shaken, unstable Gerard, “No one will believe you anyway. You’re just another fucking addict.” 

Frank glared daggers, fed up. He let go of Gerard and started forward, swinging his arm back and clipping Bert in the jaw as hard as he could with his closed fist. “Shut the fuck up, Bert, G didn’t say  _ shit _ . You have no idea  _ what _ you’re talking about,” Frank defended, his voice surpassing Bert’s in lethality. 

Bert gasped and held his jaw, spitting blood onto the grimy backstage floor. His face was rigid as he looked at Frank, fuming. Bert turned away, growling, “My manager will fucking hear about this.” 

“Bite me,” Frank hissed back, shaking out his throbbing hand and rounding on Gerard. “Ignore him,” he huffed, his voice suddenly quiet and gentle, “Are you okay?” He put a hand over the  _ AND EVER  _ on Gerard’s neck, worried he’d said too much and hurt Gerard in the process. 

Gerard smiled asymmetrically at Frank, mostly just grateful for his unwavering defence. “God... I love you,” he uttered, refusing to acknowledge any gawking bystanders. 

Frank grinned warmly, catching Gerard in a short, sweet kiss. “I love  _ you,  _ Gee. Just play your heart out tonight, remember what this is all supposed to be about.”

\--

Frank let out a long breath, having dwelled a bit too heavily on the memories from that tour. It felt so far away now, yet still so fresh. He’d been sitting in the grass for hours, the autumn sun beating over his head and making his few stray grey hairs glisten in the daylight. “God, that had to have been the messiest tour we’ve ever done. Things were just so… fucked up by the end of it,” Frank said as he thought back on it, shaking his head, “Shaving my head was really just the tip of the iceberg, wasn’t it?” 

Gerard nodded in agreement, “That’s for sure. But Bert’s manager took our side, remember? Couldn’t do anything about the setlist because of the party.” 

“I’m not really sure if that’s a good thing,” Frank smiled guiltily. It was a bit painful to think of Gerard’s assault and how loudly Frank’s younger self had handled it, without any actual permission from Gerard.

“We had enough to worry about without adding a legal battle with The Used to it all. You probably saved us in the long run. Are you really still beating yourself up about all of that?” Gerard frowned as he tried to read Frank’s shift in mood. 

Frank averted his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s probably my fault they treated us like shit until the end of the tour after that. Matt was  _ pissed _ .” 

“Fuck him, anyway,” Gerard joked, “He was a different breed, giving up on the band like that.” 

\--

My Chemical Romance sat around a decent little studio lounge in Belleville, Jersey, wracking their brains for new song ideas. The record label had given them at least another year of touring before they had to produce anything of value, but they were always wanting to get ahead of the curve and pump out new content if they had the means. 

Ray and Frank were sitting on a dusty orange couch with their heads together, plucking out a rough riff to something along the lines of  _ Mama,  _ but the creative match just wouldn’t spark and their idea puttered out after about an hour. 

Mikey was sitting on a worn leather stool in the glassed-in recording room, fingering the lines to The Black Parade’s title track, a solid demo they actually almost had ready. There was just one problem: Matt. He kept scrunching his nose up at a specific riff Mikey was playing, clicking his tongue and shaking his head in obvious disapproval. Mikey could see Matt sitting behind the drum set from his peripherals, his face aggressively Holier Than Thou. Eventually Mikey had to drop the riff to address it. “Do you have a fucking problem?” he snapped, annoyed.

Matt raised his hands in mock defense, shrugging, “I mean, I already stated that the one riff is junk but no one would hear of it. So, carry on. Might be nice if we could just get the demo over with. Maybe if Gerard would stop disappearing to chain smoke,” he ranted bitterly. 

Mikey grinded his teeth, irritated. He glared at Matt, standing up and setting his bass on an empty guitar stand. “I’ll go find him,” he said through gritted teeth, “Maybe stop being such a hypocrite and make yourself useful by getting ready to start tracking.”

Matt scoffed incredulously, “By doing what? I’ve  _ been _ ready.” 

“I don’t know, tune the fucking drums,” Mikey said as he opened the thick, dual door that soundproofed this room from the engineer’s lounge. He shut the door again, closing Matt off from the rest of them. “Where the hell’s Gerard?” Mikey asked, patience thin. 

Frank and Ray looked up from their musical doodling. Ray raised an eyebrow at the disheveled air about him, “What’s up with you?”

Frank looked over at Gerard’s spot, papers packed with scribbled lyrics and ashtray full to the brim, but his plush chair empty. “Dunno,” Frank answered, turning back to Mikey. 

Mikey groaned and dragged his hands over his face, walking past the both of them without answering Ray. He let himself out of the lounge and walked past the mastering suite, past the kitchenette that the audio engineer was smoking weed in. Mikey paused to pop a much needed percocet and opened the door to the still, Jersey evening, entering the alley that the studio led off to. He sighed when he caught sight of Gerard doing rails on the hood of Ray’s car. “ _ Dude _ ,” Mikey complained when he’d finished, predictably watching Gerard jump in reaction to his voice, “ _ Really _ ?”

Gerard turned around, smiling sheepishly, “The engineer started complaining about the frequency of my bathroom breaks.” 

“So you decided out here would suffice,” Mikey deadpanned, sighing. He shook his head to put himself back on track, “Can we just get in the studio? At  _ least  _ get the Black Parade demo tracked? Then we can be done for the night. Matt is driving me up the fucking wall.”

Gerard frowned, “Yeah, what’s up his ass lately, anyway?” he pondered, snapping back to the task at hand upon catching Mikey’s impatient stare, “Oh, yeah, right. Let’s go,” Gerard assented, following Mikey back into the studio to collect the now-stoned engineer, as if things couldn’t get any more chaotic. 

The band had started out with whole takes, the five of them playing through the full five minutes. They worked the most stripped down version of the song, using only their core instruments for the demo. Gerard, however, insisted on taking more bathroom breaks between every other run, and it was wearing on everyone’s nerves due to how much it slowed the process. Eventually the engineer put the boys on shifts, collecting content from one or two at a time while the others sat on the couch behind the mixer, trying to kill time. 

The engineer quickly realized that if Gerard was in the studio with Frank, he could be kept on topic for some time longer, so he attempted to pair them up as much as possible. He had to keep Matt in the booth pretty much the entire session solely due to how uncooperative and stubborn he was, always taking away from each attempt. It was Matt who abruptly stopped playing the most, cringing at a string of notes Frank would play or Gerard would sing. The dynamic was shifting; as Frank kept reigns on Gerard, the general annoyance was directed towards Matt, in line with Mikey’s exasperation. They were all starting to grasp what a pain Matt was being over this demo, his musical preferences clashing immaturely with the others’. 

It was Gerard who broke the militant atmosphere, rounding on Matt when he had once again stopped his performance in the middle of the song. “God  _ dammit _ Matt, even if you fucking hate it, or miss a beat, just keep fucking playing, man. That’s, like, literally the first rule of recording,” Gerard glared, letting Frank instinctively grip his wrist for security. 

Matt rolled his eyes, “That’s rich, coming from you. I thought the first rule of recording was to get through more than three takes without snorting your paycheck away.” Matt’s blatant insult caused Frank to gasp. Ray and Mikey stood up abruptly, starting towards the dividing glass. The engineer hit the mute button on their microphone channels, considering it none of his business (plus, he didn’t need a 4 on 1 mutiny on his hands).

Gerard clenched his fist and glared at Matt, “Is  _ that _ what this is about? Because  _ I’m _ not the one that’s being an absolute bitch and refusing to do my job entirely,” he snarled.

Matt stood up, fed up. He threw his drumsticks on the ground, kicking the drumming stool aside and causing a cymbal stand to crash to the floor. The engineer went white, shouting something about the cost, but Matt ignored him. “You know, Gerard, Bert was right. You’re just another fucking addict. You  _ all  _ are,” Matt accused vaguely, yanking open the insulated door, “All sitting around blowing smoke up your asses and enabling each other.” He turned around to glare at Gerard one last time. “Well, fuck you Gerard. Fuck this band. I quit, and I want to make it well known that I have no sympathy for cokeheads,” with that, Matt was storming out of the studio to varying shouts of protest and bloody murder. 

“Don’t you  _ ever _ fucking show your face around here again!” Mikey hollered after Matt, having half a mind to go after him if not for Ray’s hand on his upper arm. 

“We’ll cover that if it’s broken,” Ray attempted to reassure the engineer as he rushed into the tracking room to adjust the drum kit, grumbling.

“Are you okay?” Frank asked Gerard, leading him into the lounge to commune with the other remaining half of the band. 

“Who, me? I’m fine,” Gerard shook off Matt’s words with alarmingly little effort, “Our  _ real _ problem is that we’re in the middle of a session with no drummer, and no usable drum tracks. Any ideas?” he looked around at Mikey and Ray, who shook their heads in dismay.

Frank raised an eyebrow, surprising even himself, “Yeah, actually. I need a fucking cig, but let me get on the line.”

Frank stood outside of the studio, glad to have a moment of quiet as the phone line rang, begging to be picked up. The moment was over quickly, though, because Pete Wentz’s voice could be heard on the other end from a mile away even without Frank’s phone on speaker. “ _ Iero _ !” he greeted excitedly, “Are your ears ringing? I was literally  _ just  _ talking about you,” Pete laughed and Frank couldn’t help but smile as he pictured Pete’s thousand watt grin gleaming from Chicago.

“Hey, Pete,” Frank replied, “They’re ringing, but probably from the fucking headache I’m dealing with right now. Any chance you’re up for a favour?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck and taking a long drag from his cigarette. 

“Anything for my friends in Jersey,” Pete purred fondly, “What can I do ya for?”

Frank smiled, relieved that Pete was so enthusiastic. “Alright, well… Our drummer literally just up and quit on us, total bullshit. But we’re in the middle of a studio session and we’ve got nothing usable. Andy is the best guy we know, is there any way we could get him down here for some tracking?” Frank asked quickly, afraid that if he didn’t get it all out, he wouldn’t have the confidence to finish the thought. “Fuck, it sounds ridiculous saying it out loud,” Frank roughly apologized. 

To his surprise, Frank’s question was met with more laughter. “Man, the stars must have aligned specifically for us on this one,” Pete said amusedly. 

“What?” Frank asked, confused. 

“Listen, I have a better deal for you,” Pete started, exhilaration in his voice, “I’m actually in a bar right now with my friend, Bob. He’s a drummer, and he’s free for the foreseeable future. I can have him delivered to you by tomorrow- yeah, dude, the band I was telling you-  _ yeah _ , dude, tonight- no, Man, it’ll be  _ fine- _ Frank? Yeah, I can have him to you by tomorrow morning.” 

Frank’s eyebrows shot up, shocked at how well this ask was working out for him. “Holy shit, Pete, seriously? You’re a fucking lifesaver,” he said gratefully, chuckling at the one-sided exchange he’d just witnessed.

“You can kiss the ring later,” Pete smirked into the receiver, “I have a flight to arrange, my friend. Later!” 

Just like that, the line was dead and Frank was putting his phone back into his pocket as he took a last burning pull from his cigarette, laughing a little to himself. He couldn’t believe their luck. Stubbing out his smoke, Frank returned inside to tell the boys to go home and get some rest; they had to be at the airport in the morning to pick up their new drummer. 

*

Bob bounded into the studio with a spirit about him that the boys hadn’t experienced since before they met Bert. They automatically connected, having no issue in terms of conversation on the way back from the airport. Sure, the guy had some weird jokes about Jersey ( _ Come for the casinos, stay ‘cause your car is gone, am I right? _ ), but Pete seemed to know what they needed and had sent the perfect drummer for their evolving musical vision. 

Once Bob was actually tracking drums in the studio, they definitely couldn’t complain, blown away by the night and day difference between his skill in comparison to their bitter ex-drummer’s. With the help of his beloved coffee, Gerard even managed to lay off the rails long enough to listen to Bob in awe and get through the remaining vocal takes they needed. Within three hours, the demo was recorded and the boys were being released from the confines of the studio. 

“Holy shit, Bob, that was seriously incredible,” Ray commended him as they loaded into his vehicle, headed for celebratory breakfast.

“What can I say?” Bob smiled modestly, “Pete told me not to let y’all down.” 

“Well, you did not disappoint,” Mikey piped up from the back seat, in much better spirits than he was a mere twelve hours ago. 

“We’ve got big things in our future, boys, I can just sense it,” Gerard declared, the five of them riding on a collective high all the way to Denny’s. 

\--

“Bob has always been such a weirdo,” Frank reminisced, picturing the way the drummer had unashamedly scarfed down his first breakfast with the band. 

“No denying that,” Gerard agreed with a chuckle. “In retrospect, I wish Matt had quit sooner. Bob did wonders for our sound,” he speculated. 

Frank nodded, “The tour after that demo, we sounded incredible.”

“Damn right,” Gerard grinned. “What tour was that, anyway?” he wondered, drawing a blank, “Jimmy Eat World?”

“No, way. That was the one after,” Frank pursed his lips, trying to remember too. “Damn, no idea. They all start to blend together, huh?”

“Yeah. Kinda hard to forget the sex, though,” Gerard smirked as Frank’s cheeks flushed faintly. 

“Mm,” Frank side-eyed Gerard, smiley and youthful in his recollection. 

\--

The boys were living large by the spring of 2005, having finally made enough sales on their first two albums to splurge on an actual tour bus, complete with a driver. “No more overnighters in the van,” Ray sighed contentedly, “Sleep whenever we want in  _ real _ beds, no more driving shifts? I still can’t believe it.  _ This  _ is the dream,” he smiled euphorically. It was the little things, and also the fact that it was usually Ray that did most of the driving.

Mikey, Bob and Gerard laughed at the blissful look on Ray’s face, amazed that he was still so taken with the band’s purchase. “I mean, you said it all,” Mikey agreed, grinning. He motioned to the back of the bus where the bunks were, “Frank’s probably dreaming about sleeping on the bus,” he joked, cracking them up again.

It was nearing 2am and they were two cases of beer down, mixed with the other common vices that the men kept. Frank had retired early, itching to enjoy his bunk and get a decent rest, but it was a regular occurrence for them to be up so late due to both tour in general as well as the habit of driving through the night. 

They were all wired with no intentions of stopping anytime soon, so it came as a bit of a surprise to the others when Gerard stood up and announced, “You know, I think I’m gonna go revisit that sweet, sweet bed,” because he was almost always the last one standing. He raised two fingers to his forehead to salute the three remaining soldiers, “Night, boys.”

Mikey, Ray and Bob raised their beer bottle, hand, or cigarette, whichever came naturally, in reciprocation. 

Gerard waded towards the back of the bus, still shocked that for a vehicle, it seemed to stretch endlessly. He slid open the door that divided the bunks from the bathroom, kitchenette, and spacious common area, closing it again behind him. The hallway in the back of the bus was much more narrow to account for the six double beds, three installed on each side with a tied-off sliding ladder attached to either wall for the sake of accessing the top and middle bunks. 

Gerard and Mikey’s bunks were across from each other on the bottom, Ray and Frank’s parallel in the middle, and Bob slept above Ray on the top left side. Gerard unhooked the safety on the ladder, sliding it to the middle of the tracks and climbing up to the only bunk with a body in it. He nearly lost his balance, wobbling on the ladder for a moment before regaining his center of gravity. Somehow, he managed to climb into the middle bunk and just barely reattached the safety hook to the ladder. 

Gerard rolled onto his side once he was situated, grinning stupidly at Frank. He looked so peaceful when he slept, his face smooth and unbothered, eyelashes grazing his cheeks. Frank’s blonde buzz had been dyed red in preparation for this tour, and dark roots peeked out from underneath, begging to be touched up. Gerard briefly wondered what Frank was dreaming of, admiring his pretty complexion, but didn’t dwell on it long. He was a long shot from sober and only truly had one thing on the mind. 

Gerard lifted a hand and gently brushed his knuckles over Frank’s cheek, trying to stir him. “Frankie,” his voice was unsteady from intoxication, “Are you  _ really _ asleep?” Gerard whispered, albeit loudly; it had been well established that Gerard had never mastered that feat. 

Frank’s eyebrows furrowed momentarily before his hazel eyes fluttered open. He licked his dry lips and swallowed, confused. “Wha…? Where are we?” Frank mumbled, still not used to the tour bus even after a week. 

Gerard grinned adoringly, smoothing his thumb over Frank’s cheekbone. “On th’bus, headed to New York. I think,” he slurred slightly.

“What’s going on?” Frank blinked at Gerard, trying to focus on his face. He’d been sleeping so peacefully, and now he was groggy. 

“Just thought… the boys are still up,” Gerard implied the rest with his body language, crawling over top of Frank and kissing openly along his neck now that he was lucid.

Frank made a noise of understanding, his hands roaming Gerard’s back as he eased awake to the warm mouth on his skin. “No complaints here,” Frank murmured, smiling dazedly as Gerard lifted his head to kiss him deeply. Frank made another small noise, kissing back and parting his lips as his hands reflexively gripped at Gerard’s shirt. 

Gerard smirked against him, licking into Frank’s mouth and attempting to push the blanket between them aside in favour of sliding his hand over Frank’s bare chest, his skin toasty from the short kip. “You naked under there?” Gerard broke the kiss to tease him, mouthing at his jaw. His hand didn’t wait for Frank’s response, dipping below the blanket that still resided across his hips and palming at Frank through his boxers.

“Couldn’t make it  _ that _ easy for you,” Frank teased back, but his smile quickly faded into a soft moan, hips angling to Gerard’s touch. Frank’s hands slid from his back to his hair, eyes fluttering shut as Gerard sucked kisses along his collar. He let him have his way for a while, the two of them melting away into lazy moans and heavy breathing, clumsy hands, both drunk and sleepy. Gerard licked around Frank’s tattoos, palming at him until Frank tugged at Gerard’s shirt, coaxing him out of it before greedily going for his belt too. “Too many clothes,” Frank mumbled as the larger wriggled out of his pants. 

They both stopped to laugh when Gerard bumped his head on the ceiling of the bunk, but petered out when Frank had him successfully down to his underwear. “Been thinking about this all night,” Gerard murmured, supporting himself with one hand and hooking the fingers of his free hand in the waist of Frank’s boxers. He leaned down to kiss Frank again, nipping and momentarily sucking on his lip ring as he subconsciously grinded against Frank’s thigh. 

Frank sighed contentedly into Gerard’s mouth, only breaking the kiss to make a request, “Let me blow you first. Turn over,” Frank more or less demanded it, sliding his hands up Gerard’s naked chest. 

Gerard smirked and assented; who was he to protest? He rolled onto his back and let Frank tug off his boxers, tilting his head back and biting his lip as Frank left a trail of love bites along his inner thigh. He groaned as Frank licked up the length of his dick, swirling his tongue around the head. The sensation faded quickly though, as Frank pulled back, and Gerard grunted in displeasure and confusion. “What gives?” he whined.

“Am I not doing it for you, or…?” Frank said with a raised eyebrow. 

Gerard frowned, looking down to see Frank pumping a lazy hand around Gerard’s entirely flacid dick. He groaned a little out of embarrassment, knocking Frank’s hand out of the way. “No, it’s not that. Just… give me a second,” he said, cheeks flushing as he attempted to masturbate himself, but to no avail. “ _ Fuck _ ,” Gerard cursed, “Fucking coke dick. Or whiskey cock, take your pick.” Gerard let go of himself and let his head fall back against the pillows in dismay. “M’sorry, Frank,” he mumbled in defeat. He’d rarely ever been unable to get it up, and he was flustered with shame. 

Frank chuckled a little, making Gerard feel faintly emasculated until he spoke. “You really think you’re allowed to get me all hot and bothered and then give up so easily? Nah,” Frank said suggestively, his voice low in his throat as he crawled up Gerard’s torso to temporarily meet his lips. “You’re  _ mine _ tonight,” Frank purred, nipping his chin.

Gerard looked at Frank and actually giggled a little, pursing his lips to stop himself. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Are you serious?” 

Frank didn’t yield to Gerard, instead moving a tattooed hand to curl around his throat, digging his nails slightly into the sides of his neck and grazing his teeth along the skin of his jaw. “Did I stutter?” Frank asked darkly, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. “Tell me what the fuck I just said,” he whispered hotly against Gerard’s ear before moving to suck on his earlobe.

Gerard shuddered slightly from underneath, letting out a surprised, breathy noise as his fingertips pressed heat against Frank’s chest in anticipation. “ _ I’m yours tonight _ ,” Gerard’s voice came out like a mewl, strangled into submission and aroused by Frank’s initiative. 

“That’s  _ right _ ,” Frank confirmed with a dirty grin, easing up on Gerard’s throat. He moved to carefully brush his lips against Gerard’s but pulled back to chide him and squeeze his throat whenever he tried to close the minimal space between them without approval. Gerard quickly learned to lay still, sweating bullets as he gazed up at Frank, turned on. He breathed shallowly, letting Frank graze his lips, unmoving, until he was finally indulged in a lengthy, messy kiss. When Frank pulled up for air, he released Gerard’s throat, purring, “That’s a good boy.” 

Gerard’s eyes fluttered, his heart skipping at Frank’s words. He’d had  _ no  _ idea Frank could push his buttons like this. He didn’t dare speak, quickly trained. Gerard observed as Frank rooted around the cubby in the wall near the head of the bunk, successfully locating the lube. Condoms were a thing of the past for them at this point. He bit his lip as he watched Frank lube his fingers up, suddenly nervous. 

Frank prepared but paused when he set the lube aside, resting a hand on Gerard’s knee. “Is this okay?” Frank asked gently, rubbing his thigh encouragingly. 

Gerard breathed out slowly, sucking his lips in and biting down on them both, but ultimately nodding. “I trust you,” he consented. 

“Good,” Frank murmured, leaning down to kiss his stomach before lying on his belly between Gerard’s legs, feet kicked up in the air. Frank pressed a few more kisses to Gerard’s thigh before sliding his pointer finger along his cleft and pressing it against Gerard’s hole. Gerard tensed, his breath audibly catching. “Just relax,” Frank cooed, resting his cheek against Gerard’s thigh and going as slowly as deemed necessary. 

Gerard breathed shakily, closing his eyes and trying to take Frank’s advice. He managed to do as he was told, an involuntary moan escaping his lips as he relaxed around Frank’s finger and felt him successfully ease in up to his first knuckle. Gerard’s eyes rolled slightly at the sensation, his lips parted as his breathing grew more ragged. He didn’t realize until he was doing it, pushing his hips subconsciously towards Frank and steadily taking more of his digit once the process had started. 

“That’s  _ such  _ a good boy,” Frank complimented, starting to move his finger with Gerard’s hips. He curled it slightly and grinned at the resulting whine. 

“Fuck,” Gerard breathed, “More,  _ please.” _

Frank didn’t have to be told twice, easing back his first finger to situate a second lubed up digit beside the former. He pressed them both against Gerard’s hole, waiting for him to relax his muscles before sliding back in, slowly stretching him wider. Frank revelled in the noises Gerard was making, pleased with himself. 

Gerard groaned, rolling his hips and blindly reaching for Frank, one hand gripping his hair and the other digging into his shoulder. He was no longer reluctant, even inviting the unsuspected reversal, finding it easy to accept in his intoxication. Frank fingered Gerard slowly for a while, curling to reach for his prostate now and then until he had established a proper rhythm. It wasn’t until Frank was biting and sucking hickies onto his thigh that Gerard couldn’t stand it any longer, begging, “Please,  _ please _ , just  _ fuck me already.”  _ His nails drove desperately into Frank’s shoulder, shaky and needy. 

Frank grinned at the request, sucking a final bruise onto his flesh as he eased out his fingers. “I thought you’d never ask,” Frank teased, moving to kick off his boxers and sit back on his haunches. He squeezed more lube into his hand, pumping his fist around his erection just enough to slick himself up. Frank nudged Gerard’s thigh and hummed in appreciation when he obliged by spreading and raising his legs so that Frank could situate himself between them. Frank gripped the back of Gerard’s thigh, spreading his ass with his thumb and forefinger’s knuckle. He used his other hand to guide his cock to Gerard’s readied hole. 

Gerard bit his lip in drunken anticipation. His eyes widened and he gasped at the sensation as Frank initially entered him, moaning. His hands flew to Frank’s back, chin raising as his head lifted from the pillow. 

Frank watched Gerard with possessive greed, moving his hand to the back of his other thigh. He gradually pressed the rest of the way in, breath shuddering. He paused once Gerard had accepted his full length, hands on his thighs, Gerard’s knees close to his chest and feet in the air. “This okay?” Frank murmured, leaning over Gerard, their faces centimeters apart in the cramped bunk. 

“ _ Please,”  _ was all Gerard could get out, choked and insistent. He had reached a whole other plateau of highs. His dick may not be in working order at the moment, but his senses were in orbit. He could feel every movement, every one of Frank’s fingertips, and each droplet of sweat that dripped from his forehead onto Gerard’s cheeks and neck. 

Frank slid back before thrusting in again, grunting and flexing his shoulders as Gerard clawed at his back. He quickly lost track of time, dipping his face to kiss Gerard intensely. He used Gerard’s thighs to his advantage in the position and space allotted. 

Gerard moaned into Frank’s mouth, breathing raggedly through his inflamed nose. He was absolutely taken by him, at his disposal. He arched toward Frank, hissing when his slight curve grazed his prostate. Gerard broke the kiss to bury his face in the crook of Frank’s neck, dragging his nails over his back. 

Frank fucked Gerard relentlessly, grunting and huffing as they rolled their hips together, clinging to each other. Gerard’s head dropped back to the pillows as Frank let go of one of his thighs, weaving his hand through their tangled bodies to once again wrap around Gerard’s throat. This time, he decided to utilize Gerard’s favourite trick, pressing his thumb against his lower lip and watching him hungrily.

Gerard whined, unable to even form a dig at Frank’s advance. Instead, he parted his lips and sucked Frank’s thumb into his mouth obediently. He made circles with his tongue against the pad, eager to please. Gerard hooked his fingers around Frank’s shoulders, moaning around his digit and angling his hips up. He gasped, reflexively arching his back when Frank hit his prostate. “ _ There,”  _ he breathed as Frank withdrew his thumb to wrap back around his neck.

He squeezed Gerard’s throat and fucked purposefully, hitting his prostate each time now. Frank’s face was directly over his, their lips grazing, but Gerard made no move to kiss him as Frank choked him. They were starting to unravel. Gerard’s lips were still parted, so inviting and swollen from being bitten. In the heat of the moment, Frank parted his own, spitting into his mouth.

Gerard’s eyes widened slightly but he moaned and swallowed without protest, his stomach flipping with arousal at the gesture. His cheeks were burning as Frank dug his nails into his skin and pressed him into the mattress of the tiny bunk by his throat. 

Frank groaned at the sight of Gerard, feral with lust. “ _ Fuck _ , I love you,” he murmured, breathing hard and grunting involuntarily with each thrust. 

Gerard whined shakily, staring into Frank’s endless, intense eyes. “I love  _ you _ ,” he whispered restrainedly, gripping onto him tightly. He was coming apart, everything just too intense, too fucking good. Gerard closed his eyes and was finally rewarded with a deep kiss from Frank, letting him lick past his saliva-slick lips. His body reflexively started to tense and he groaned openly into Frank’s mouth, hips jerking with pleasure; he was starting to see white spots. 

Frank hissed at the tightness, releasing Gerard’s throat at last to return his hand to his other thigh. He continued to kiss him deeply, using his legs for a last ounce of leverage. He fucked his hips hard a handful more while Gerard clenched around him, desperately sucking and biting at Frank’s lips. Frank groaned and shuddered as he came, his hips momentarily stilling as his dick twitched, filling him. Frank broke the kiss and pushed his face into Gerard’s throat, releasing his thighs and moving his hands to his hips instead. Gerard whimpered and relaxed into the sheets, legs resting over Frank’s hips as he basked. 

Gerard slid his fingertips over the now-raised marks on Frank’s back, breathing shakily and pressing his nose into Frank’s hair. He lazily rolled his hips, sighing in nirvana.

Frank lifted his head once he had slowed to a stop, smiling warmly and kissing Gerard briefly before sitting back slightly to ease out. They both groaned as Frank removed his length and cum immediately dripped from Gerard’s ass. Frank collapsed next to him, sliding a hand over his chest and peering over at him wordlessly. 

Gerard bit his lip, pressing into Frank’s touch. He rolled onto his side in a wordless request to be held. Frank obliged him by wrapping both arms around Gerard’s back, intertwining their legs despite the cum leaking down Gerard’s milky thigh. Gerard smiled weakly, nuzzling Frank’s cheek before kissing him slowly, lazily, for quite some time. Their hands roamed aimlessly, not ready to let go of each other. When the kiss finally ended, Gerard grinned a little. “We should… we should switch things up more often,” He said, a little breathlessly. 

Frank snorted and kissed Gerard’s chin lovingly, “What I’ve been trying to say. And all it took to convince you was whiskey dick,” he teased. 

Gerard bit his lip sheepishly, amused. “Won’t ever hear me complaining again,” he promised, snuggling down into Frank. “Can I stay?” he asked shyly.

Frank pulled the blanket over them, preserving their warmth. “Long as you like,” Frank said endearingly, repeating, “I love you, G.” He ran his fingers gently through Gerard’s hair, wondering just how soundproof the dividing wall between the bunks and the common area was. 

Gerard smiled, blissful. “I love you, Frankie,” he whispered, hands sliding over Frank’s arms and back.

“You guys are fucking dicks!” Ray’s voice called out from the front of the bus. Gerard and Frank looked at each other abashedly, laughing it off. 

\--

“Okay, wait. There’s  _ no  _ way that wasn’t the tour with MSI. That’s when we got the bus, right?” Frank pointed out, the timeline starting to come back to him. 

“Oh, shit, I think you’re right,” Gerard agreed, thinking back on it. “Checks out. I did a  _ lot  _ of blow on that tour,” he observed. 

Frank rolled his eyes, “Oh, I remember. Jimmy was  _ way _ worse than Bert on that front,” he reflected somewhat bitterly, “Actually, he was awful on all accounts.”

Gerard smiled meekly, shrugging a little, “Yeah, the guy never let up. How’s he even doing these days, do you know?”

“Somehow still alive, anyway,” Frank answered, his attention wandering to the You’ll Rebel To Anything tour. 

\--

The first thing Frank remembered about meeting Mindless Self Indulgence was spiked, pink hair bounding towards their band accompanied by insane eyes. “God, this is such a  _ pleasure! _ I’m Jimmy Urine, and welcome to the shit show,” Jimmy went down the line, aggressively shaking all of their hands with both of his. 

A dark-haired, tattooed woman pulled up behind Jimmy, rolling her eyes. “That’s what he likes to call tour. Lyn-z,” she introduced herself with a mere wave, naming off the rest of the band as they nodded their heads with much less of a welcome-wagon style to it. 

Gerard waited for his arm to be violently shaken by Jimmy, and it was, but the wild man also paused to grin at him knowingly. As soon as their eyes met, an unspoken understanding formed between them. Jimmy had slipped something into the palm of Gerard’s hand as he shook it. “Just a little welcome gift,” he smirked before turning to address the rest of MCR, “Y’all are getting your tour bus before we head out, right?” The band generally agreed. “Well, shit, let’s go check it out!” Jimmy seemed almost more excited for the bus than the actual owners. 

The two bands meandered in the direction of the shiny new bus parked outside of the dealership and Gerard hung back as Ray accepted the keys from the retailer. He’d just shoved Jimmy’s token into his pocket, assuming it was something inappropriate. He took it out to inspect as Ray let everyone onto the bus, his cheeks pinkening when he realized what it was Jimmy had given him; a snuff jar. A tiny glass vial that could hold a couple grams of snow with an even smaller spoon attached by a miniature chain to the screw-on lid. So, obviously Jimmy had known about his vice before they had even met. He stuffed the empty container back into his pocket; maybe he should be concerned about the spreading word of his addiction. Instead, he relaxed a little as his more pressing worries about finding a plug on this tour dissolved.

Gerard jumped and squeaked when a hand came down on his shoulder, looking over to see the only other person who had hung behind. “Jimmy,” he said, half-grinning in relief.

Jimmy leered, spinning Gerard to face him with some pressure on his shoulder. “You like the welcome gift? I was thinking we could break it in together on your shiny new bus,” he suggested, clearly itching for a re-up.

“Neat little thing, yeah. Thanks,” Gerard said, shrugging, “Fuck it, let’s check it out.” 

“So is this a smoking bus?” Jimmy asked loudly as Gerard scouted around for a place of privacy to crack a pearl. 

“It is now,” Frank said, lighting a cigarette as he poked through the kitchenette in awe, “Wow, this is, like, fully furnished.”

Jimmy barked a laugh, casually watching the boys snoop around their new digs, “How’s it feel?”

Mikey had just returned from the bunks, piping in, “It’s fucking sweet _.  _ The bunks have  _ outlets _ .” 

Lyn-z rolled her eyes slightly, “Yeah, cool flat and all, but we’re gonna go get ready for the trip.  _ Don’t _ hold us up, Jimmy. Later,” she gave the frontman a stern look before following the rest of MSI off of the bus. 

Gerard popped back into the lounge, gripping Jimmy’s shoulder and catching him off guard in a similar fashion, “Come check out the bathroom, it has a fuckin’ shower.” 

Frank looked up from a silverware drawer at the mention, frowning slightly. How had he already found blow? They hadn’t even left Jersey yet. Unless… Jimmy had brought it to him from New York. His frown deepened with concern as Jimmy followed Gerard enthusiastically into the bathroom, too thrilled over something as mundane as a shower. 

Jimmy shut the bathroom door behind them, glancing around the room. “Well, it’s not as big as you made it out to be,” he joked as he rifled around his pockets for a familiar little baggie, “Gimme the jar.”

“It’s not bad either,” Gerard shrugged as he produced the glass. He shuffled to switch positions with Jimmy so that the pink-haired man could utilize the single-person vanity. Gerard watched as he expertly untied the baggie with a ridiculously long pinky fingernail; the rest of his nails were bitten to a stub. Jimmy squeezed the loosened bag until the rough chunks of white broke down. Then, he carefully poured the powder through the tiny entrance of the vial, using an edge of the bag as a funnel. “Jesus,” Gerard said in amazement; Jimmy had transferred the blow within a couple of minutes, “How long have you been doing this?”

Jimmy tittered, using the miniature spoon to scoop out a bump, plugging one nostril and snorting the mound of powder right off of the spoon. “God, I don’t know, man. Kinda lost track. Can’t wait to tour with you, though,” Jimmy screwed the lid on and passed the vial back to Gerard to do as he pleased. “I’ll see ya later, gotta dip before Lyn-z comes back with a baseball bat or some shit. Enjoy,” Jimmy winked, leaving Gerard to his devices and animatedly saying goodbye as he weaved his way off of the bus. 

*

The boys were just over a week into the tour and had been living it up to the enablement of MSI. The headliner had only one rule, and that was  _ Never Stop Partying _ . Even with a personal driver, it was uncommon for the men to retire to their bunks until around 2am, at which point Ray would announce, “Well, you know what they say, nothing good happens past 2am,” and predictably lead the parade to bed. 

It would always be Gerard, muttering, “Who’s ‘ _ they’  _ anyway?” and spending the remainder of each night staring down that little glass snow globe until it was empty. 

Now and then, someone would retire early to much dissent from the others, just as Frank had done days earlier. This was when Gerard had crawled into his bed coked-out, Frank remembered so well. Thankfully the snide remarks from the rest of the men had subsided, but Frank and Gerard were still side-eyeing each other and heating up on stage, driven by the comfort of Frank’s cramped bunk. 

The residue high from that night was still lingering with them, keeping them generally happier than usual. Whatever it was, Jimmy could tell, and he utilized the mood to his advantage, sidling up and slinging his arms around Gerard and Frank’s shoulders as they were watching the opening band backstage. “My boys,” he greeted, “I was thinking: Me, traveling overnight on your bus. I  _ did  _ notice a spare bunk, could be fun. What say you?” He talked slyly, his suggestions almost sounding rhetorical, like it was already a done deal. 

Gerard grinned at the idea, already envisioning an incredibly sleepless night, “I’m in.” 

Frank pursed his lips momentarily, but he ultimately agreed after weighing his options. Jimmy or no Jimmy, Gerard would find his way to Snow White. Nothing Frank had said over the past year had changed his mind, so refusing this would only ruin the upwards swing they were on. Maybe it was selfish, but Frank considered that best case scenario would result in him being woken up at some ungodly hour for sloppy sex, muffling each other’s moans with their hands. Frank felt slightly guilty as his mouth formed words of approval, but there wasn’t much else he could do on the road when Gerard’s biggest enabler was, once again, cream of the crop.

“Fucking  _ sweet _ . I’ll see you fuckers tonight, then,” Jimmy whooped, slapping them both on the backs and bounding off to find his bandmates. “Hey,  _ Steve _ !” He could be heard shouting, his stiff, hairsprayed spikes wobbling as they disappeared down a hallway.

Frank side-eyed Gerard, distrusting of Jimmy, “You sure about this?” 

“It’s one night. How bad could it be?” Gerard laughed, swinging an arm around Frank’s shoulders and lacing his fingers in his hair. He pulled Frank towards him and kissed the side of his head, giddy at the prospect of the evening. 

*

One by one, the amount of bodies socializing in the tour bus lounge declined. Ray repeated his mantra, as he always did, and Bob eagerly trailed behind. Around 2:30, Mikey threw in the towel and wished them goodnight. Frank hung on as long as his sore eyes would let him but finally, around 3am, he had to call it quits. 

Gerard had an arm around him as he chain smoked and exchanged tall tales with Jimmy, absentmindedly rubbing circles into Frank’s upper arm. It wasn’t until Jimmy’s eyes drifted repeatedly to Frank that Gerard glanced over to realize he had dozed off. He chuckled, looking at Frank’s softened face adoringly before gently shaking him. “Go to bed, silly,” Gerard nuzzled him awake, oblivious to Jimmy’s curious stare. 

“Hmm?” Frank blinked back awake, his head popping up as he dazedly looked around the lounge. “Shit, sorry,” Frank apologized as he drew a deep breath through his nose and haphazardly stretched. “Yeah, that’s a good idea,” he agreed, turning his face to smile sleepily at Gerard. 

Gerard chuckled, returning an endearing smile. “You’re so fucking  _ cute _ ,” he commented, instinctively cradling Frank’s jaw with his free hand and kissing him earnestly. 

Frank made a soft little noise and reciprocated, loosely hugging Gerard as they kissed goodnight. When he pulled back, Frank gave Gerard a squeeze before standing up. “Love you,” he said softly. 

“I love you too,” Gerard replied, smiling after Frank a little obsessively. 

“Goodnight, Jimmy,” Frank said pointedly, the temperature of his demeanor dropping multiple degrees as his eyes landed on the guest. 

“Night, Frank,” Jimmy replied to his back, for the guitarist hadn’t even waited for a response before heading for the bunks. Message received, loud and clear. Jimmy chuckled and turned to Gerard as the dividing door slid closed, “Feisty little thing, isn’t he?”

“You’re telling me,” Gerard said, staring smittenly at the door, “Never met anyone else quite like him.” 

The departure of Frank left Jimmy and Gerard alone to do as they pleased. It meant that bathroom trips were no longer necessary, because no one was left to judge. Instead of his quick bumps, Jimmy started scooping generous amounts out of the snuff jar onto a square of cardboard, cutting up lines for the two of them as they sat in the faux-leather booth at the lounge table. They told jokes and lies, losing track of time and blow. 

Gerard watched as Jimmy tipped the vial upside down, knocking the remainder out and shoving the cardboard his way as he replaced the contents with even more. If Bert was ever an endless supply of coke, Jimmy seemed like the mother of all endless supplies. He was determined to keep up, and obliged in preparing the next batch of rails for them both. “This is fucking wild,” Gerard speculated in wonder. 

“Which part?” Jimmy asked amusedly. 

He thought on it for a moment, not actually entirely sure. “The bus, the blow, the sex, you pick one,” Gerard laughed along with Jimmy, answering with the first things that came to mind. 

Jimmy let Gerard go on an aimless rant, entertained by his lack of filter. He set the full vial aside and rolled up a bill in preparation for the next batch. “Perfect,” he said in admiration, as Gerard stopped talking to snort a line and slide the cardboard back. 

They passed the makeshift tray back and forth between rapid words as the rails consistently dwindled. The conversation carried itself as they recklessly barrelled past 4am. Gerard found himself laughing, about what he couldn’t remember, as he slid the tray back towards Jimmy once more to finish it off. But he’d forgotten about the glass, sitting so precariously on the edge of the table for easy access. 

It happened in a split second, but felt like an eternity. Jimmy and Gerard both watched the square knock the vial, sending it over the edge. Jimmy desperately fumbled in attempt to catch it, but to no avail. The speed of their world resumed as the tinkling sound of the snuff jar smashing shook both of them to their cores. The jar shattered on the hardwood floor by the table, sending a puff of dust and particles of glass outwards. Most of it landed in a neat pile on the wood, but at least a quarter of its contents caught in the rug underneath the table, getting lost in the fibres. 

“ _ Fuck!”  _ Jimmy’s voice could’ve shaken the whole bus.

Gerard cringed at the volume, sure that the entire band was awoken by the outburst. He paused, thankful to hear Ray’s snores cutting through the ringing silence. “I’m so fucking sorry, that was the best gift-” Gerard started rambling, but was cut off by Jimmy almost immediately. 

“Fuck the jar, man, you can get one in any head shop. That was the last fucking gram of the night,” Jimmy hissed, seething, “That’s all we fucking had left.” 

Gerard’s face went white in realization. “ _ No _ ,” he breathed, disbelieving. It couldn’t be. He’d truly assumed Jimmy had bottomless pockets. “ _ Fuck _ , I’m sorry.” 

Jimmy was suddenly on the floor on his knees, careful not to disturb the pile of dust. “Just. Fucking help me,” he said, irritated, but with an aura about him that it wasn’t his first time doing something like this. 

Frank had just barely fallen asleep when Jimmy’s voice filled his ears, jolting him back to consciousness. Ray and Bob slept on, but the heavy breathing stopped emitting from Mikey’s bunk, too. Frank listened to the frantic, muffled voices coming from the other side of the divider before resolving to swing his legs over the bunk and lower himself to the floor without the ladder, something he’d been practicing during daylight hours. He shuffled past Mikey’s listening ears on the bottom bunk, stopping just before the divider. He cracked it open just a smidge, peering into the lounge. 

Regret immediately shot through Frank’s spine as he watched Gerard kneel beside Jimmy with a distressed look on his face. Jimmy was already using two pieces of paper to sweep and scoop the bulk of the loose, glass infested coke onto the cardboard tray while Gerard picked up chunks of glass. His hair fell in his face as he scoured through the rug, combing for shards amongst the mess. 

Jimmy had saved as much as he could, and brushed the remainder into the crevices of the hardwood before looking at Gerard purposefully. “There’s only one way we can make the most out of this,” he said, already rolling a bill. 

Gerard furrowed his eyebrows in confusion for a moment, but his eyes quickly widened in understanding as Jimmy leaned down to snort the remaining white that could not be saved straight from the floor. If Jimmy was doing it, he supposed he had no qualms following suit.

Frank watched with absolute horror, entranced, until he noticed Mikey hovering slightly behind him. He jumped a little, but Mikey just smiled sadly and put a hand on Frank’s shoulder, having seen enough. “Let’s go back to bed,” he suggested quietly. 

“Good idea,” Frank said shakily, glad to be prompted. If Mikey hadn’t woken up too, who knew how long Frank would be frozen to the spot, watching Gerard play God. He climbed the ladder to crawl back into his bunk, bothered and worried. He stared blankly at the pitch black ceiling of his space, finding himself unable to sleep until he knew Gerard was safe and resting in the bunk beneath him.

Gerard knelt beside Jimmy, feeling a bit embarrassed, but upon seeing how shameless the man was, he quickly shedded his doubt. He followed suit, rolling his bill and leaning down to snort whatever he could from the fibres of the rug. He started to nitpick over what could be saved, pained by letting so much go to waste. 

So this was what true desperation felt like. The two of them remained there for a few minutes, faces pinned to the floor, sunken to the rank of carpet sniffers trying to salvage a dwindling high. When they could save no more, they returned upright to the table to assess the rest of the damage. Gerard sat quiet and still, trying to read the mood. 

He watched as Jimmy picked through the coke, incessantly removing countless shards of glass. Even when he had picked over the powder twice, it still glistened under the lounge light in an uneasy and unfamiliar way. Jimmy sat back, shrugging, “That’s as good as it’s gonna get. You don’t have to, but I’m gonna.” He spread the white over the tray, cutting it up into the last dangerous rations of the night. 

Gerard bit his lip, quiet for a while longer. “Doesn’t bother me,” he lied, not sure why he was still trying to keep up with Jimmy at this point. “Seriously, I’m so fucking sorry…” Gerard trailed off, chewing his cheek. 

“It is what it is,” Jimmy said through gritted teeth, “I’m over it.” He leaned down and inhaled a line, hissing on the way up and aggressively wiping at his nose as he passed the square back to Gerard, “God damn.” 

Gerard looked at the remaining snow, a little worried, but he’d already committed. He plugged his right nostril and snorted a tainted line, gasping and dropping the bill almost immediately. Gerard sat back and gripped the back of his neck with both hands as his head burned. The glass particles felt like they were ripping up his lungs and he could feel the sensation peppered throughout his back. His neck throbbed as little pops of pain bursted behind his eyes. And then it subsided, out of nowhere. He relaxed a little into the booth, breathing out. 

Jimmy chortled, looking at Gerard as if he were a joke. “ _ That _ bad, really?” he chided, pulling the board back.

Gerard shrugged a little, quaky but trying to brush it off. “Didn’t know what to expect,” he excused uneasily. 

Against his better judgement, he kept partaking in the remainder of the poison white until it was gone. By the time the last of it vanished up Jimmy’s nostril, Gerard’s head was screaming. He wiped at his nose, expecting the common post-nasal drip he was met with after a night of rails. To his surprise, his hand pulled back bloody, the crimson smeared across his face. “Shit,” he muttered as he followed Jimmy to the bunks. He wanted to stop in the bathroom, but his head was so fuzzy that he wasn’t sure he’d make it back to his bed without guidance. 

Jimmy grunted goodnight to Gerard, bitterly and noisily hauling himself into his bunk. What a shit way to end the night, with a bad high. 

Gerard managed to crawl into his own sheets with similar sentiments, regret coursing through his veins as his head burned. He wiped at his nose, unsure as to whether he was smearing snot or blood around. He was afraid to confront a mirror in the morning, as if it weren’t already dangerously close to 6am. He pulled the privacy curtain shut, shielding himself from any prying eyes, closing his own in a miserable and vain attempt to sleep it off. 

It was no use; Gerard lay awake for what felt like hours, tossing and turning sleeplessly as his mind assaulted him with paranoia. Was he going to die? How much glass had he actually ingested? Was his nose still bleeding? Was he going to choke on his blood in his sleep, or maybe on vomit? His mind raced until he heard Ray waking up and getting out of his bunk to start the day, stretching and yawning, lazy and hungover. Holy fuck, what time was it? How long had he been awake? He rolled onto his other side yet again, squeezing his bloodshot eyes shut and trying so hard to catch at least a couple hours of rest. He breathed shakily and tensed as the dark curtain was suddenly pulled back; did Ray know? Then he felt someone crawling into his bunk. 

“It’s just me,” Frank soothed, unable to bear the sound of Gerard thrashing around any longer. “You okay?” he whispered into his neck, assuming the role of big spoon and pressing himself against Gerard’s back. Frank wrapped his arms protectively around him, burrowing against him. 

“Been better,” Gerard whispered, teeth chattering as he became hyper-aware of just how badly he was shaking. He was freezing cold from lack of sleep, his nose was unbearably clogged, and his eyes felt so dry. Gerard gripped Frank’s forearms with both hands, glad for the unsolicited comfort in the midst of his blazing headache. 

“I’m here now,” Frank cooed, holding Gerard tight and kissing the side of his face mindlessly. “Just focus on me, I’m not going anywhere,” he promised soothingly, “I got you. I love you, and I got you, forever. You’re everything to me, Gee, always will be.” 

Gerard listened to Frank continuously feeding sweet nothings into his ear, greatly comforted by the words. His eyelids began to feel heavy, and eventually his sore vision and racing thoughts loped into nothingness, sleep overcoming him. 

\--

“I didn’t know you’d seen any of that,” Gerard said, taken aback by Frank’s additions to the story. 

“Yeah, didn’t  _ see _ much, but… that’s how I always figured the rest of that night went,” Frank pondered, his eyebrows knitted with trouble, “I started heavily using again after that, so I don’t really remember the rest of the shows, or maybe I like to forget? When I think of the MSI tour, it’s mostly just those few moments.”

“Jesus H,” Gerard said, sorrowful, feeling like a broken record, “Frankie, I had no idea. God… I’m  _ sorry.” _

Frank shook his head, smiling sadly. “It’s all in the past, isn’t it, G?” he said, his voice wavering. “Like you said, the sex was unforgettable, at least,” Frank managed a smile, gazing at Gerard longingly. 

“It  _ was… _ ” Gerard allowed, “But the aftermath…” he said regretfully, guilt ridden. 

“You were never quite the same after Jimmy Urine,” Frank whispered, bowing his head in confirmation. 


	2. The Man in His Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PART TWO - This is a COMPLETED fic

Frank was grinning and holding Gerard’s hand as he unlocked the door to his first apartment,  _ their  _ first apartment. They stepped into the modest flat together; it was mostly bare aside from some hastily thrifted mismatched furniture and a few bags and boxes they had transferred from their parents’ and the tour bus. Still, it was theirs. “So… this is home,” Frank sighed with a smile, leaning back into Gerard after he’d shut the door. 

“And we’re actual  _ roommates _ . With benefits,” Gerard grinned into Frank’s ear, resting his arms loosely around his hips. 

Frank chuckled at the suggestion, baring his neck as he tilted his chin up to kiss Gerard’s jaw. “How could I forget? That’s the best part,” he teased, pressing his ass back momentarily before untangling himself from Gerard’s grasp. Gerard whined in protest but leaned back against the door frame to watch Frank drop the remainder of his bags onto the empty kitchen counter. Frank unpacked a few necessities as he went over the list in his head. Together they’d paid for the damage deposit, first and last months, and the remainder of the initial stack of bills with their very real paycheques. Finally, the incessant touring and studio sessions were paying off. “I think we got it all covered…” Frank pondered to himself as he finished unpacking his smallest bag of immediacy from tour. A look of realization dawned on his face and his head whipped around to look at Gerard in half-horror, “Oh my  _ god,  _ we forgot to buy groceries. We don’t even have salt.”

Gerard had been watching Frank with a silent adoration, almost able to read his headspace based on the expressions he was emitting. He just laughed, smitten, “Don’t panic yet, Iero. I’ll go get us celebration food to tie us over and we can get brunch before we stock up tomorrow,” Gerard had the solution ready, already having thought of this but not bothering to mention that Frank had forgotten.

Frank laughed a little, running his hand through his hair and smiling surprisedly, “Aren’t you Mr. Optimistic?” He returned to the slender man, gripping the front of his shirt in both of his hands and kissing Gerard firmly. “I’ll delegate rooms and start unpacking,” he grinned. 

Gerard reciprocated, chuckling, “You dealt with the paperwork, I got this covered. Take the best room, Frankie, you deserve it,” Gerard kissed his forehead, both in genuity as well as guilt, “I’ll be back soon.” 

As Gerard descended the concrete apartment steps, a burgundy car with tinted windows pulled up in front of him. “Oh, yeah, this is definitely the guy,” Gerard heard a voice say as the passenger window rolled down and the car doors unlocked. “Get in the back,” the passenger instructed as his pale, blue eyes and blonde hair appeared from behind the tinted window.

Gerard obliged, letting himself into the car and looking between the driver and passenger.

They looked somewhat hardened, and Gerard figured he should be anxious, but he was running dangerously low on blow and couldn’t afford to be scared. He’d gotten this plug’s number from Jimmy, who seemingly had a link for every state. 

“So, you’re looking to pick up some soft? How much?” the driver asked casually as he peeled out of the apartment lot, driving around aimlessly to keep any cops off of his tail. 

Gerard furrowed his eyebrows in faint confusion, “Soft?” he asked to clarify, never having heard the term. 

The passenger snorted and Gerard caught a glimpse of unimpressed eyes from the driver’s rear view mirror. “Coke, bro,” the passenger answered, twisting around to look at Gerard like he was stupid.

Gerard felt heat rising in his cheeks but managed to shrug it off, responding, “Oh. They call it everything other than soft on the road. Give me a ball,” he made his order, pulling out a wad of cash along with his newest snuff jar that had now been replaced a handful of times. 

The passenger raised an eyebrow but presented three little pearls. “That’s $200,” he said, exchanging the white for a solid piece of Gerard’s paycheque. 

Gerard was mentally prepared, somehow stomaching the amount of cash he was handing over. First of all, blow had always been free to him on tour, but on top of that, the money Gerard was making from music now was more than he’d ever seen at once, and it was going to dwindle quickly at this rate. He considered that he should probably look into getting his first credit card as he unscrewed the lid of the snuff vial. “You mind if I bump here?” he asked, untying one of three baggies with much more experience and ease now. 

The driver shrugged, “Knock yourself out.”

Gerard grunted in appreciation, oblivious to the dealers observing in awe as he opened the bag and funneled it into the impossibly small jar so smoothly, and in a moving vehicle at that. Clearly they had misjudged him. He scooped a spoonful of powder, plugging a nostril and huffing, repeating the motion a couple times before sighing in content. He caught the gaze of the driver in the mirror, recalling he was still in their presence and smiling sheepishly. “Thanks. Oh,” he remembered, “Would you guys mind taking me to Subway, like, super fast before you drop me off? Would save me from taking the bus and shit.” 

The driver’s eyebrow went up yet again at the audacity of Gerard, but he couldn’t help laughing, “Yeah, sure, buddy.” 

*

Gerard let himself back into the apartment, his main purchase safely stowed in his pocket. He glanced around the kitchen and past it to the living room, smiling at the few unpacked things peppered throughout the space. He turned down the hallway, peering into the bathroom and then the room that Frank had apparently decided was his. “Good choice,” Gerard greeted, standing in the doorway and smiling when Frank turned. He held out his hand, presenting the food, “Can I offer you a veggie sub?”

“That was fast,” Frank commented, leaving his bags in favour of Gerard and accepting his contribution. “How did you know this was what I wanted?” he wrapped an arm around his shoulders, leaning up to kiss him in thanks. 

“Just did,” Gerard slid his hands down Frank’s back, smirking. “I can’t wait to fuckin’ live with you,” he said, squeezing his ass. 

Frank made a tiny noise and bit his lip. “Food first,” he said pointedly, but with a smile as Gerard grunted in protest. He searched his olive eyes, willing his face not to fall when he silently confirmed for himself that Gerard was definitely high. He wondered how the hell he’d gotten his hands on blow in Belleville of all places. He tried to picture Gerard anxiously facing a drug dealer on his lonesome, but was unable to draw the image. It was a strange notion, but he pushed past it, convincing himself that it would only take a couple weeks for him to get Gerard on the straightened arrow. 

*

Frank only waited a few days to bring it up, sensing the signs of a dwindling stash. Gerard was always irritated and projecting his mood when he was fiending. Frank slid open the glass door leading off to a small balcony, using his elbow to open the door and his foot to close it once he was onto the dull grey concrete. He offered a cup of coffee to Gerard, who accepted, and sat in the second lawn chair. “We should really get some decor to liven up this balcony,” Frank shot a sideways glance at Gerard as he lit up a cigarette, trying to gauge how this conversation would go. 

Gerard stared into his coffee for a few moments. “Yeah, whatever you want,” he said vaguely, reaching across the small outdoor table for a flask and dumping a healthy dose of amber liquid into the coffee. 

Frank frowned a little, wanting to reach over and touch him. Instead, he gripped his own mug in both hands between long drags of his cigarette. “Gee… I think we should talk,” he swallowed before pressing on, “Where’d you get the number?”

Gerard frowned and finally met Frank’s gaze, his face twisted at the accusation. “What number?” he deflected.

“Don’t make me say it,” Frank was surprised to find himself whispering. Over and over, as his heart ripened with age, Gerard managed to break it a little more each day. “I thought you were going to try and get sober after the tour,” Frank said softly, “I’m here to help you, the whole way, you know…”

Gerard’s face went cold, expressionless. It was terrifyingly impossible to read his change in mood. “I  _ am  _ sober,” Gerard flat out lied, standing up abruptly, “But I get what you’re saying, loud and clear. You’re just like the rest of them sometimes, Frank,” Gerard glared down at the smaller man, trying to gaslight him into not bringing it up again. Why couldn’t Frank just let sleeping dogs lie and not stick his nose where it didn’t concern him? They were happy, so what did it matter? “I have to go pick up eggs anyway,” Gerard took a big gulp of coffee and set the cup irritably down on the table, “I’ll be back later.” 

Frank frowned deeply after him, worried. There was no doubt in his mind that Gerard was lying, but why now, after all this time? Maybe because it was his own money he was spending, or that he didn’t have the crowd as an excuse for his need to use? Frank fished out a pill he knew was hiding somewhere in his flannel pockets and grabbed Gerard’s coffee mug, washing it down. “Eggs. Sure _. Fuck _ ,” he muttered to himself, sucking air through his teeth as the spiked coffee went down. “What am I gonna do?” he whispered to his disheveled reflection in the glass door. All he knew was that he’d rather be enduring Gerard’s verbal abuse in the midst of a withdrawal as opposed to the angry, apathetic, serial liar that he was turning into.

*

If Frank ever thought he could curb Gerard’s addiction solely with the power of love, he was the king of fools. He quickly realized that moving in together, to Gerard, meant that he could keep up his drug use without parental eyes peering in at inopportune times. Gerard was slipping, getting lazier about hiding his habits. He wasn’t exactly denying his use anymore, but he wasn’t actively flaunting it like he used to either. If ever Frank brought it up, Gerard would change the subject, leave the room, or snap at him, refusing to hear it. It was these few moments that made Frank truly realize just how far gone Gerard was; he’d used to have  _ some  _ influence on his decisions, but no longer. Eventually Frank had given up on asking, dosing regularly with percocets to try and dampen both the guilt of feeling unable to do more, and the sting of always coming second to Snow White. 

There were more immediate issues at hand, though, and Frank just couldn’t leave this one unaddressed. He found Gerard in the kitchen rummaging for food and waited around until he was noticed. 

“Oh, hey, what’s up?” Gerard asked as he closed the fridge door. He was in generally good spirits lately, happy to be left to his own devices.

“I hate to bug you about this, but can I have some cash?” Frank bit his lip ring momentarily, “It’s just… it’s the first set of bills and it’s already almost two weeks past due.”

Gerard rolled his eyes and tossed a few berries into his mouth. “Yeah, I’ll get my half to you in a couple days,” he answered.

Frank clenched his jaw for a second before pressing the matter, “That would be cool, but… that’s what you said last Friday, and the Tuesday before that,” he felt guilty hounding Gerard for money, but  _ God _ , he couldn’t already be broke… could he?

Gerard frowned and shook his head in irritation, “Jesus, Iero, I fucking get it. I’ll get you the cash,  _ okay _ ?”

Frank flinched slightly and bit his tongue. “Okay,” he agreed, but when Gerard left the kitchen in a storm, Frank resolved to just pay the bills himself. 

*

A couple more months had passed, and things weren’t looking up. Gerard had once again given up on hiding his drug use, loudly coming home at any given hour in the night. He’d settled nicely into one of Jersey’s party scenes, finding his way into a like minded crowd and sinking his time and money into it. Most nights he’d bust down the door at around four or five in the morning, but it varied either way. Frank had yelled at Gerard over the inconsideration the first couple of times it happened, but he soon realized it was going to be a regular occurrence, if not nightly. Gerard seemed to like his new friends more than he liked Frank; he spent more time with them by far.

This day wasn’t much different from others, except for the fact that Gerard was bumbling home in the late morning, coked out of his mind as well as still buzzing from all of the liquor his new crew liked to pass his way over the course of a night. He fumbled with his keys for a few minutes, trying unsuccessfully to fit the key into the lock. His vision was blurring in and out with tiredness and intoxication. Eventually he frustratedly shoved the keys back into his pocket and started banging on the door. “Frankie!” he yelled, pounding his fist against the dated wood, “Frank! Open up!”

Frank cringed when he heard Gerard hollering, speed walking to the door and rushing to unlock it. He glared as he opened up, grabbing Gerard’s shoulder and pulling him inside. “You’re god damn lucky it’s 10am and not four in the morning like last time,” he hissed, embarrassed. 

“Oh, lighten up,” Gerard laughed, brushing him off and holding out his occupied hand. “I brought home McD’s,” he said, dropping the bag in Frank’s hands. 

Frank scoffed, catching the fast food and frowning as he got his first good glimpse of Gerard. “What the hell are you wearing?” he asked, noting that Gerard most definitely did not start the night in his current outfit.

Gerard was adorned in a tattered mesh shirt, his nipples peeking through the translucent material, half tucked into a plaid black and grey pleated skirt. His pale, easily bruised legs were bare aside from the cigarette tattoo on his ankle, poking out above his socks and Chucks. On top of all the black was a pastel pink faux fur coat. He grinned and did a twirl to show off his outfit, staggering and nearly losing balance before uprighting himself, “You like? My friends gave me some fashion tips,” Gerard flaunted, full of himself.

Frank snorted, setting the bag of grub aside and folding his arms across his chest in distrust. “Is that a serious question?” he countered, staring. 

“Oh, come on Frankie. I feel so  _ free _ like this. Plus, I feel  _ hot,”  _ Gerard drawled, stepping closer to Frank in an attempt to embrace him. “And I want you to  _ fuck me _ in this skirt,” he murmured, going in for a kiss. 

Frank frowned and dodged his advance, Gerard’s lips connecting with his jaw instead. He nudged Gerard, leaning away. “Whose skirt is that, anyway? One of your new fuck buddy’s?” Frank snapped. He wasn’t one to slut shame, but he was tired of wondering if the sex he was having with Gerard was even safe. Was he faithful, or taking advantage of their “Roommates with Benefits” title? He still found himself wondering if Gerard even loved him, despite hearing it often. 

Gerard pulled back in confusion, his smirk faltering at the rejection. “I told you, one of my  _ friend’s.  _ What are you saying?” he inquired, on edge.

“Who else are you fucking, Gee?” Frank spat, his heart in his throat. He’d been dying to ask for weeks now. 

Gerard guffawed, stumbling back and calculating Frank. The shit-eating grin returned to his lips and he ran his hands suggestively down his chest. “I  _ am  _ irresistible, aren’t I?” he pondered, hyping himself up, “No surprise they all love me so much.”

“You think you’re real hot shit, don’t you?” Frank snarled, disgusted by his self-absorbedness. It was like he was catching glimpses of Bert behind Gerard’s eyes. “Are you fucking anyone else? Yes or no, Gee?” he pressed. 

“Does it matter? It’s not like we’re  _ boyfriends,”  _ Gerard teased, laughing, always managing to take it just slightly too far.

“Fuck this,” Frank threw his hands up, turning on his heel. He gulped a panicked breath, Gerard’s words cutting deep. “You do  _ whatever _ you want, Gerard,” Frank called as he purposefully walked down the hall, wiping at his eyes and popping a pill.

Gerard frowned and clicked his tongue, taking a few steps after Frank. “Come  _ on _ , Frankie! It was just a fuckin’  _ joke _ !” he yelled down the hall, wincing when Frank’s bedroom door slammed in response. He continued to pester, “What the fuck happened to you? You’re no god damned fun anymore!” It was useless. “I  _ love  _ you!” Gerard made one last feeble attempt, but he wasn’t getting a rise out of Frank and he knew it. “Fucking idiot,” he said under his breath, berating himself as he sat down at the coffee table. “Fucking  _ asshole,”  _ but still, Gerard pulled out his trusty vial, burying his regret in the snow. 

*

Frank and Gerard continued living together with an icy air in the apartment. The two of them generally minded their own business, retreating to their rooms almost always when the other was making use of a common area. Gerard still hadn’t offered any closure or truth about his current amount of sexual partners. Still, Frank couldn’t help but let Gerard crawl into his bed in the wee hours of the morning for raw, wordless, desperate sex. Similarly, Frank found himself climbing into Gerard’s bed at the times he was in his lowest, downer-induced states. 

Frank had given up on hounding Gerard for bill money; the man hadn’t paid a single cent towards his adulthood in the four months they’d lived together apart from the initial connection fees. Every last dollar was going up his nose or to his liver, aside from the occasional fast meals he brought home for them both. 

Frank was sitting in the living room with Mikey and Jamia, glad for company. He’d been feeling so fucking lonely and isolated, like a 50’s housewife chained to chores while his supposed partner in crime spent the days smoking and talking big with his “colleagues”. He hadn’t asked permission to have company because frankly, he didn’t really care for approval considering Gerard was essentially the posterboy of bad roommates. Frank had popped a perc earlier and was letting Jamia and Mikey carry the conversation in content until Mikey started directing questions at him.

“So, where’s G? You guys good?” he asked, looking over Frank. His eyes were glazed and he seemed to be so disconnected from the conversation, in such rough shape. Mikey didn’t know Jamia all that well, but they were the two Frank had chosen to ask over, so he stayed for Frank’s sake, worried. 

Frank forced his mouth to work, reluctantly re-entering the conversation, “Hiding. Or still sleeping, probably. We’re… no, we’re not really talking all that much right now,” he admitted, dropping his gaze from Mikey’s speckled eyes. 

“Honey, I’m sorry,” Jamia touched Frank’s arm tenderly, “Do you want to talk about it, or just smoke about it?” Something about her presence was so calming. She had been the one to talk him down during his semi-public breakdown, after all. Jamia was living in New York City currently, but it was a short jaunt for a friend, and she was glad Frank had reached out to them before he did anything regrettable. 

“Smoke about it,” Frank answered, his eyes fogging over again as he mechanically stood up and fished his cigarettes out of his pocket, leading his friends to the balcony. He didn’t feel up to talking about the last four messy months yet. 

Gerard woke up with an unpleasantly splitting headache, his ears burning as the sounds of laughter and dishware clinking assaulted him. He covered his face, wincing at how tender his entire sinus area was. His cheeks felt stretched tight and his nose was impossibly clogged, so badly that he could only stand to breathe out of his mouth. 

He groaned, forcing himself into a sitting position and fumbling around his blankets for the loose roll of toilet paper. He blew his nose a lot these days, far past the panic of being unable to breathe due to inflamed nostrils. He ripped off a wad of toilet paper, burying his nose in the tissue and blowing it until he felt like his ear drums were going to pop. When he pulled back, he looked at the congealed yellow and white mucus, thick and seemingly endless. 

Disgusted, he folded and threw the toilet paper into the wastebin by his bed, standing up and stretching. God, his body hurt. What had he even done last night?

He shook his head, traipsing to his bedroom window and sliding the pane up. He guided his dick out of his boxers and aimed out the window, shamelessly relieving himself. With a sigh, Gerard shook off and concealed himself, closing the pane and rooting around his poorly stocked dresser. He pulled out a t-shirt, smelling and pulling it on. He peeled off his boxers and redressed, feeling as if the sounds coming from the kitchen were only getting louder. At any rate, his head was only throbbing more. 

Gerard located his pants from the previous night, digging through the pockets until he found his precious vial, shaking as he unscrewed the lid and scooped out a bump. Sure, he’d just woken up, but a snuff was as good a remedy to a headache as advil was. He snorted a couple of bumps, waiting for his head to quiet, but still  _ so  _ irritated by the noisy guests. 

Finally, he couldn’t help himself. He pulled on his Chucks and grabbed his keys, wallet, vial, and another wad of toilet paper, shoving them into his jeans pockets before storming out of his room and aggressively shutting the door. He stalked down the hall, offended by Frank and his friends making use of the kitchen. The audacity, to make brunch when he was  _ clearly  _ sleeping at 2pm on a Wednesday. 

When Gerard entered the common area, he made a beeline for the door, only turning to face them when he was halfway across the room. “You guys are  _ way _ too fucking loud,” he complained, but his eyes widened in surprise when he made eye contact with Mikey. “ _ You’re _ here? And  _ you _ didn’t even tell me?” his affronted gaze moved to Frank. 

“Gerard, come  _ on- _ ” Mikey started, but Gerard waved him off, suddenly uninterested and reserved. 

“I see where your loyalties lie, you can eat your god damned words,” Gerard hissed at his brother before his eyes narrowed in on Jamia, “and who’s this bitch?” He announced his lack of recollection for her offhandedly, his empathy drained to nothing, “Is her name Payback? Fuckin’ see ya.” Gerard didn’t wait for an answer to any of his questions, closing the space between himself and the door and slamming it hard on the way out. Where he was going, his feet knew and his brain would eventually catch up. 

“Jesus Christ,” Mikey uttered, staring at the door in horror, “He’s… lost himself.”

Jamia frowned deeply, putting an arm around Frank’s shoulders, bracing him. “Are you okay?” she asked softly.

“I’m fine,” Frank said through gritted teeth, closing his eyes and willing himself to forget about the most recent minute of his life. 

“What… what did he mean by that, Frank?” Jamia coaxed softly, trying to get him to finally open up to them. She turned off the stove, moving to plate the food they had prepared. 

Frank gripped the counter with both hands, eyebrows pulled together with trouble. “Payback… because I asked him who else he was sleeping with,” he said slowly, his face contorting at the ugly, still-fresh memories. 

As Frank sat down to eat with his friends, a broken, convoluted version of the worst summer of his life tumbled its way awkwardly out of Frank’s mouth as he tried to remember the timeline. It all kind of melded together into one giant nightmare clouded by percocets, and he lost track of the story quite a few times, having to be reminded what he’d been talking about.

As he trailed off for the last time, finishing his rant about Gerard’s deteriorating state, his company let out long sighs, ingesting Frank’s horrific reality. “I don’t even know where to start,” Mikey said, disheartened, “This whole thing is just so fucked up. I’m so sorry, Frankie.”

Frank leaned into Mikey, food long gone, remembering the first few times he had confided in the Way brother. He vaguely remembered it going almost exactly like this. “Thanks, Mikey,” he smiled sadly. 

Jamia pondered on the surplus of information, quiet for a while. Eventually, a wicked smirk overcame her face. “I have an idea,” she said, “But feel free to say no.”

*

Frank did not say no. In fact, he embraced the proposal. He wasn’t sure if it was the ever growing spite, the stacks of assorted pain, or if he was just losing sight of Gerard behind the addiction and maybe wanted to hurt him a little. Regardless, Gerard did not protest to the idea of hosting a party, immediately pulling out his phone to invite his endless list of friends while Frank merely texted Jamia and Mikey, “its on. xofrnk” He would’ve invited Ray and Bob, maybe a handful of others, but he was afraid to be embarrassed by Gerard paired with the slew of people he had never met. 

“This is gonna be  _ so  _ good,” Gerard raved once he lifted his nose from his phone, “I knew the Fun Frankie hadn’t died.” 

Gerard had been offering a lot of backhanded compliments lately, and Frank just brushed him off. “Uh huh,” he agreed noncommittally, turning to retreat to his room, “Better get ready.” The thing about cokeheads was that they had nothing else to do, and if they were called, they would follow the scent of the party regardless of the time or day.

Frank was just glad that the majority of his personal effects had slowly made their way into his room over the course of the last few months. It was bad enough that Gerard broke his possessions, both on accident and on purpose, he didn’t need the party crew disrespecting his property too. 

Jamia and Mikey arrived when the apartment was already packed to the brim, rails lined up on all viable surfaces. They weaved their way through the rambunctious crowd to Frank’s room to extract him. Mikey knocked on the door before letting themselves in, finding Frank where he said he’d be until they arrived. “Pretty fuckin’ crazy out there,” Mikey commented, shutting the door behind them.

Frank rubbed the back of his neck, having second thoughts. “Maybe we didn’t think this all the way through,” he hesitated. “I mean, I’m definitely not getting the damage deposit back,” he sighed.

Jamia laughed a little, sitting beside Frank on his bed. “Let’s be real, you probably weren’t getting it back anyway. Come on, we can still have fun with this,” she encouraged, rubbing his arm. 

Frank beat around the bush for a while longer, but inevitably let himself be coaxed out of his room to face the party. He locked his bedroom door from the outside (thank god for old apartment buildings) and weaved his way through the sea of white trash, receiving enthusiastic greetings and returning them with much less pep. Apparently these people had heard plenty about him. Frank gripped Jamia and Mikey’s wrists, avoiding the blow on the counter as Mikey grabbed them beers, holding three bottles between the fingers of his free hand. 

“Jesus,” Jamia said under her breath, shaking her head disbelievingly at the lack of discretion. She took the lead, guiding Frank and Mikey in a train to a less crowded area as Frank continued to be bombarded with slurred and excitable greetings alike. She settled near the living room window, leaning against the wall and letting go of Frank to sip her beer. “I guess this is the spot,” she said, surveying the room, “Do you see him?”

Frank took one of the two remaining bottles from Mikey, letting go of him and following Jamia’s suit. “No,” he said after a general scan, “But he’ll find me, he always does.” 

Jamia chuckled and motioned for him to come closer, “Then we might as well get the ball rolling.”

Frank obliged, leaning his shoulder against the wall so that he was facing her as he nursed his beer.

“Don’t look so awkward,” Mikey laughed, standing close to them, but not nearly as close as Frank and Jamia. “Relax, dude. Here,” Mikey pressed half of a pill into Frank’s hand.

Frank looked at the split pill and scrunched his nose at Mikey, “Really? This is all I deserve?”

Mikey laughed again and pressed Frank’s fingers closed around the pill, “We’re both cutting back,” he said. Gerard’s state as well as Frank’s had scared Mikey a little; he was feeling so much guilt over the fact that it was he who had offered Frank percocets to begin with. It was becoming a heavier issue for them both, and Frank was spiralling fast, so Mikey had taken it upon himself to try and hit the breaks for both of their sakes. 

Frank scoffed a little and threw back the halved pill, washing it back with beer. “Okay, I guess,” he said somewhat bitterly, but he let it go. Someone had to be responsible, and Frank knew deep down that he was losing his grip on that role. 

Jamia watched the exchange, putting her hand on Frank’s chest and leaning in to murmur in his ear. It  _ looked  _ suggestive, but she only offered words of support, “Mikey’s got the right idea, you know. Don’t hold it against him.” She kept rubbing his chest, but it was surprisingly soothing. 

“I know,” Frank replied, playing his part and nudging her cheek with his nose, “Thanks.” 

Jamia and Frank carried the conversation with Mikey, casually talking about anything other than sexual suggestions, but their body language screamed on the contrary. Frank let Jamia lean into him and play with his hair, nuzzling into his neck. 

Within a matter of fifteen minutes, their bait had extracted Gerard from the crowd and drawn him to them like a magnet. “And what the fuck is this?” Gerard accused immediately, his eyes wild as he physically forced Frank and Jamia apart. 

Frank stumbled back a little and pushed Gerard away, “What does it matter to you?” he confronted, trying to stand up for himself according to the plan. 

Gerard snorted in incredulity, “Fuck you. Her name  _ is  _ Payback after all, isn’t it? I fucking  _ knew  _ you were sleeping together.” Lately, Gerard had a knack for jumping to conclusions faster than a bullet could reach a body. 

Frank’s face hardened and he mustered all of his ruthlessness, repeating Gerard’s words back to him instead of offering confirmation, “It’s not like we’re  _ boyfriends  _ anyway.” 

Gerard ingested Frank’s words, any remaining bit of colour draining from his face momentarily. As he blinked, deciding how he was going to respond, his eyes flickered to the window beside Jamia. He rounded on the three of them, actually hissing a little between his teeth. “Fuck all of you. I don’t fucking need you, anyway. You’re  _ not  _ my brother, you’re  _ not  _ my boyfriend, and  _ you’re  _ just a useless bitch,” Gerard addressed them one at a time, clenching his fists, “I have all the friends I need, can’t you see that? All of my people are  _ right  _ here, and they love me, they  _ worship  _ me. I’m as close to God as a human can get, I’m fucking invincible, and I don’t need  _ you _ ,” Gerard proclaimed all of this with a sneer, genuinely believing his trumped up claims. Nothing could hurt him anymore, Frank had made sure of that. Gerard stood there for a second, shaking in fury, before panic abruptly overcame him and his eyes returned to the window. “Fuck, I gotta get outta here,” he said urgently, and then he was at the sill, sliding up the pane and swinging his first leg over the second story ledge. 

Frank had managed to tune out Gerard’s crazed rant with a blank, emotionless stare, but his eyes widened tenfold when he realized what Gerard was doing. He gasped, breath catching in his throat, and lunged for the singer before his stunned friends had the time to react. Frank grabbed his arm, frantic, “Gee,  _ don’t-” _

Gerard turned his head slowly to look at Frank, his eyes mad. “You  _ never _ loved me,” he whispered, a deformed smile playing on his lips. He ripped his arm from Frank’s grasp and turned, pushing himself off the ledge and aiming for the ground. Gerard landed in the gravel and small shrubbery, a sickening  _ crack  _ echoing between apartment complexes. “ _ Fuck!”  _ was the only word that followed, Gerard’s strangled voice coming from below the window. 

“Oh my  _ God!”  _ Jamia shrieked. She grabbed Mikey and Frank’s wrists, snapping them out of the terrorized trance as they peered out the window. “This was  _ not  _ part of the plan. Come on!” she urged them, pulling them through the crowd towards the front door. 

Jamia, Mikey, and Frank were the first three to reach Gerard, but a crowd quickly gathered both outside and behind Frank’s apartment windows. Mikey was on the line with 911, pacing and waving off the pockets of people if they swelled too close to his brother.

Jamia had remarkably thought of smashing a glass emergency box as they rushed down the stairwell, extracting the first aid kit and carrying it with her to Gerard. She was apologizing repeatedly under her breath, muttering something about how spite never worked out for her, as she did her best to jimmyrig a splint for Gerard’s foot until he was transported to a medical center. 

Frank was an absolute mess, racing ahead of Jamia and Mikey, dropping to his knees in the landscaped gravel beside Gerard, gripping his shoulders and then cradling his face in a panic. “ _ Gee _ , are you fucking  _ crazy?  _ What did you break? Are you  _ okay? _ ” Frank didn’t care that they were technically not currently on talking terms, this was just too much. If Gerard wanted his attention that badly, God, he had all of it now. 

Gerard laughed deliriously, blinking slowly and laying fairly limply in Frank’s grasp. “I don’t know, can’t feel a thing,” he responded, grinning and laughing some more. 

A sob tore from Frank’s throat, unsolicited tears spilling down his cheeks, “You fucking idiot, of  _ course  _ I’m not sleeping with Jamia. It was just a stupid fucking idea to get back at you,” Frank blundered, explaining himself with hiccups and regret. 

Around this time, Jamia and Mikey had caught up, the bassist fumbling on his phone warding off the crowd while the stylist touched Gerard’s mangled foot ever so slightly, eliciting a deafening howl of pain from Gerard. “Yup, that’s the injury in question,” Jamia winced, launching into her whispered apologies as she opened the first aid kit to construct the splint. 

Gerard let out a shaky breath, refocusing on Frank and reaching up to cup his face in his hands, too. “I  _ am _ the fucking idiot,” Gerard agreed, crumpled in defeat. His God Complex was shattering as he lay on display for his “friends” who were probably uploading this to MySpace in real time. “But you’re fucking  _ stupid  _ if you think I’ve ever given away anything more than a kiss,” Gerard squeezed Frank’s cheeks in emphasis and winced as Jamia handled his broken foot, “I tell them you’re my boyfriend, Frankie, why do you think they’re all so nice to you?” Gerard claimed like it was obvious, but all three of them froze upon hearing Gerard’s proclamation for the first time. 

“You do?” Frank asked, stunned. His hands dropped from Gerard’s face to his chest, gripping his shirt.

Gerard just laughed, clasping his hands behind Frank’s neck, “Of course, dummy. I fucking  _ love _ you.” 

“I love you too…” Frank furrowed his brows in confusion, shaking his head a little and backtracking, “So, wait, are we… are we boyfriends?”

Gerard smiled smittenly at Frank’s naivety, searching his eyes, both of them laughing and crying as an ambulance squealed up to the apartment building. “We can be whatever you want to be, babe, it’s only ever been you,” Gerard gripped onto Frank for as long as the paramedics would let him, straining for a kiss before they carted him off. “I fucking love you, Frank Iero!” he yelled relentlessly from the back of the ambulance. 

The doors slammed shut and the ambulance peeled out of the cul de sac, leaving Frank to sit in the gravel dazedly as Mikey and Jamia gripped his shoulders, equally as shocked by the outcome of the night. 

“ _ God _ , I love him,” Frank whispered, leaning back into his friends as he tried to process the new information. He felt like he’d been completely sideswiped, but then, Gerard always knew how to throw a curveball. 

\---

“That was a long walk for a short drink of water,” Frank reflected, feeling like he was still, to this day, healing from that summer. 

Gerard sounded truly apologetic, “It was fucked up, yeah. I treated you like shit, Frank, I… But we got there in the end,” he tried feebly to lighten the mood. 

Frank smiled sadly, gazing at Gerard with longing, “I guess we did,” his chest tightened and he dropped his eyes, “Until the next tour, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Gerard’s voice was mousy, guilty. He had no excuses left in him. 

“Don’t blame yourself for that one. Bert should’ve known better than to weasel his way onto a guestlist,” Frank allowed, still blaming The Used’s frontman above all else for the travesty that was Gerard Way. 

\---

Gerard was sitting at a dressing room vanity alone, save for the handful of used and bloodied q-tips strewn in front of him. They were only about two weeks into the tour with Jimmy Eat World and Gerard absolutely fucking loathed it. The only plus side was that his foot had pretty much healed from the party incident and in time for the tour. They weren’t even really that far from home -- having started in the Northeast and made their way down, they were in New York City for the night -- but Gerard’s plug had been refusing to cross state lines to deliver. This would be a non-issue if only Jimmy Eat World weren’t clean as a whistle, insisting nothing more than weed and beer be accepted in their vicinity. Gerard had been left to fend for himself, learning to live like Jimmy Urine and finding a new link every couple of cities. He practically lived in Jimmy’s phone at this point, insatiably texting him for new blow contacts. 

The problem was that some of Jimmy’s plugs were… dubious, at best. He found himself carrying an intricately engraved pocket knife on him wherever he went, and even felt himself reaching for it once back in Boston. Overall, Gerard had smoothly managed most of his sketchy transactions and continued to remain unscathed. It was just that, well, it seemed that Jimmy did some questionable coke. At least, Gerard convinced himself that it was the quality of it and not the quantity as he sat in front of the vanity, sweating. “Fuckin’ Jimmy and his shitty soft,” he muttered to himself, irritated and a little panicked. It was Jimmy that was the carpet sniffer, so it would be he that would settle for any quality of blow, right? But… if Gerard had followed suit on both accounts and continued to walk in Jimmy’s footsteps, wasn’t he just as bad? 

Gerard growled to himself, dragging his palms down his face in an attempt to clear his head of his confusing, greyed morals, his eyes rolling slightly as he blinked back into focus. He let out a shaky breath and reminded himself of the task at hand. Whether the quantity was catching up to him or the quality was working double time, Gerard had a serious problem to address. He leaned forward and stared into the mirror, crazed, as he used his phone flashlight to illuminate the inside of his abused nostrils. 

He flinched and fumbled, nearly dropping his phone at the sight; he still couldn’t get used to it. Steadying best he could, Gerard forced himself to truly look at the damage he was doing. The inside of both nostrils were inflamed so badly that the upper walls were sticking together, allowing zero passage for air. They were spotted with white powder, coated and resting inside of his nose to slowly burn away his flesh. Some areas were an angry red, obviously damaged and thinning. 

Gerard swallowed hard and picked up a fresh q-tip, carefully guiding it to the coated areas. When he gently rolled the cotton against the sores, the powder came off easily, all at once in thin sheets of congealed coke and damaged skin cells. He continued to stare up his own nostril as he removed the swab, surprisingly feeling no pain but then, his nose was always numb for quite some time whenever he used. It was likely the reason it had taken him so long to discover what the inside looked like. To his horror, as he removed the chemical, fresh red patches of burned skin appeared where the white once was, sprouting tiny pins of crimson. 

“No, no, no,” Gerard whispered, his heart thumping loudly in both his chest and ears. How much damage had he actually done? Was it reversible? Was he going to be unable to breathe through his nose for the rest of his life? Had Jimmy given him bad links, or had he just been at this for too long? His mind kept going back to that question, trying to place blame. Was he going to need a coke nose job? He’d caught wind of the phenomenon, something celebrities often joked about. There had been countless cases in show business where actors and musicians alike required surgery to piece their septum back together. 

Gerard started panicking more, pushing the snuff vial in front of him aside with disgust before using his flashlight to peer back into his nose. He investigated his angry, thinning septum, with it’s patchy and questionable areas. He tried to locate any perforation, a sign that it was going to collapse, but his paranoia made it too difficult to tell either way. It’s not like it was as simple as just breathing through his nose and listening for a whistle; he’d do that if he could breathe.

Against his better judgement, he parted his lips, hesitating before shining the flashlight into his mouth. His stomach dropped at the sight of all of his rotting molars, a city of cavities. Worse, he was  _ sure _ there was a small black pin prick on the roof of his mouth. Was the roof of his mouth thinning already, too? Was his palate going to collapse before his septum? He thought about all of the coke he had rubbed haphazardly on his gums, teeth, and coated his cigarettes with. The returning thought of either surgery, the process and the cost, made him drop his phone with a clatter to the vanity. 

Gerard sat back, afraid of himself and all that he had done. He held his face in his hands, breathing rapidly through his mouth and regretting every decision he had made in the last two years. He wasn’t sure when he had started crying, but tears were flowing earnestly down his face as he choked out a few strangled sobs, cursing himself. “Fucking worthless,” he gasped, “What are you even  _ doing?”  _

Gerard’s head whipped up and he forced himself quiet when he heard a knock on the door frame, turning to identify the intruder. The warmth drained from his already-gaunt face when he locked eyes with his enabler, abuser, groomer.

“Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” 

Gerard flinched at the insult, clenching his fists and haphazardly wiping his face with one of them as he watched the man letting himself in and closing the door behind him. “I  _ have  _ to get clean, Bert,” Gerard choked in a last ditch effort. 

Bert stepped forward, eyebrow raised. He barked a laugh. “What are you even  _ talking  _ about? You’re in your prime,” he said smoothly, brushing Gerard off. 

Gerard closed his eyes and turned his head, looking away from Bert, “ _ Stop _ . How did you even fucking get backstage?” he asked harshly. Bert was the absolute last person he needed to see right now. How could he ever think, for even a second, that Bert would be willing to support him in sobriety?

Bert just laughed more, “It’s called a fucking guestlist, babe. A little on edge, are we?”

Gerard gritted his teeth, lifting his head to glare at Bert. “I’m  _ not _ your babe,” he said firmly. Of  _ course  _ he had managed to land himself on the list. Bert was probably in the city to record or something, and it was well-known that he was never one to let sleeping dogs lie. “I’m getting clean, Bert, I  _ swear.  _ Starting right now,” Gerard seemed like he genuinely meant it, but his nostrils weren’t numb anymore and the areas he had removed the coating from were escalating from a stinging sensation to a burning one. He winced, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Bert rolled his eyes and perched on the edge of the vanity beside Gerard, looking down on him. He folded his arms across his chest, disbelieving. “Head starting to hurt?” he smirked, “You know the one fix to that.” Bert pulled a pearl out of his pocket, dropping the baggie square on the vanity in front of Gerard. “It’s the shit you like, the shit that makes you  _ fun,”  _ he purred. He’d always liked Gerard better when he was high, it was no secret. 

Gerard cringed, hating how Bert could read the ugliest parts of him. Two addicts, one in the same. His gaze moved longingly to the baggie of good, reliable white, the kind he knew was pure. If Bert could be counted on for anything, it was quality blow. He shook his head, trying to resist and remember his reasons for wanting to get sober. He glared up at Bert, desiring to rip the amusement from his face. “ _ You’re  _ the one that said if I kept going the way I was, I’d need a coke nose job,” he tried so desperately to justify his will to quit, “And that was, like, a year ago.”

Bert had one up on him, though, brushing him off yet again, “It was a  _ joke,  _ obviously. That kind of shit takes  _ years,”  _ he embellished, sounding confident.

Gerard frowned, unsure if there was any merit to the claim, but wanting so badly to believe Bert. He was running out of reasons not to do it, staring with great desire at the pearl. 

“Just one more bump,” Bert whispered, “One more pearl. You  _ won’t _ regret it. For the sake of  _ tradition _ ,” he insisted, but his tone was patronizing.

Gerard flinched yet again, knitting his eyebrows as he remembered the countless rails, endless shots of Jagermeister, the many times Bert had written on his neck in sharpie, and the single time Bert had gotten him blackout drunk. “No,” Gerard said, swiping the baggie and untying it with his grown and practiced pinky nail, “That tradition is dead to me,” he said pointedly, “But thanks for the blow.” 

Bert scowled at Gerard, offended and standing up straight. He made no move to confiscate the powdered gift, though, watching as Gerard emptied the contents into the snuff jar. “Yeah. Enjoy,” he hissed, bitter.

Gerard was unresponsive as he cut himself a couple of lines, not offering any to Bert. He rolled a bill, leaning down and snorting the fresh snow. When he lifted his head, he had to aggressively inhale for longer, trying to ingest the coke. He finally dropped his hand and let out a small sigh, but at least a quarter of the line flaked and floated out of his nose. It was so stuffed that the drug was quite literally falling back out. “Fuck,” he whispered. Maybe it  _ wasn’t  _ the quality that was the issue.

Bert stared at Gerard with pity and a little bit of disgust, actually having to look away as the blow fell, wasted, onto his shirt as well as the vanity. Even to Bert, Gerard was pathetic. “I’ll be backstage with the rest of the boys. Come find me,” he said coolly. Even he couldn’t stand to stick around and watch him make a wreck of himself. Bert turned and let himself out, leaving Gerard dejected but well-stocked. 

Gerard glowered after the door, cursing Bert under his breath. Of course, he had come in unannounced, quite literally dropped coke in his lap after Gerard had strongly expressed his urge to get sober, and was gone once again like it was nothing. He felt betrayed all over, hating himself, hating Bert, hating Jimmy Urine, hating his party crew back home in Jersey, and hating all the dealers he’d ever had the displeasure of coming into contact with. Gerard turned back to the mirror, staring at himself. He considered going back in with q-tips but was unable to stomach it any longer. His nose hurt too badly and, Bert was right, the powder was the only thing that could successfully numb the pain. He accepted his defeat, laying out another set of rails for himself and submitting to his addiction. 

Gerard’s head was screaming, howling, wailing. His nose was running incessantly and it burned like hell. It took him forever to stop torturing himself, ingesting rail after rail until he was so fucked up that his ears were ringing. And, God, Bert had been so wrong. This was  _ not _ the solution he needed. He wanted so badly to not be high, to just come down already, but the night had only just started. He stood up from the vanity, shoving the already dwindling vial of snuff into his pocket and leaving the mess of remaining scattered powder and used cotton swabs for another set of hands to clean. He couldn’t focus on the door currently, let alone the courtesy of tidying up after himself. 

Gerard pulled his pack of Marb Reds and drew a cigarette. He settled it between his lips, uncaring that he was inside. He lit up, puffing it to life and making his way to the door. He was irritated, aggressive even, severely regretting his current state and hoping to will it away with a pack of smokes. Everything was unclear to him aside from the fact that he desperately needed to find Frank, the only one with all of the answers. 

Gerard faintly recalled Bert saying they’d all be backstage by the time he was finished partying solo. He peered down the hall as he exited his dressing room, letting his feet carry him to the others. All of the venues seemed like they were built by the same one person, anyway. 

Gerard turned a few corners and eventually found Bert more-so annoying the rest of My Chemical Romance rather than communing with them. The sound of his laughter was like nails on a chalkboard, the sight of his busted mug made Gerard’s fists clench involuntarily. He was highly aggravated, but he honed in on Frank, beelining for him and ignoring Bert’s greetings to the best of his abilities. 

“There’s the man of the hour. Is Fun Gerard finally back?” Bert taunted, seemingly unbothered that no one was laughing at his jokes aside from himself. 

Gerard took a harsh drag on his cigarette, ignoring the prickling feeling on the back of his neck. Bert’s voice was literally making him nauseous. “Frank, I-” he started, trying to ask for help, but Bert’s hand was on his arm. 

“ _ Hey _ , I was talking to you,” Bert gripped his upper arm, nails digging in slightly, possessive and speaking with an edge to his voice. He wasn’t joking anymore. 

Gerard flinched hard, but Bert didn’t let go. Slowly, Gerard’s head turned to meet Bert’s icy blue eyes and he bared his teeth in a mocking smile. “ _ Don’t _ fucking touch me,” Gerard hissed. Without breaking eye contact, Gerard put out his cigarette on the back of Bert’s hand, twisting the butt and grinding his teeth in his tooth-breaking grin at the sound of Bert’s raw, sizzling skin. 

Bert absolutely howled, immediately releasing Gerard and jumping back as he held his wounded, quaking hand. “You are fucking  _ insane _ ,” Bert screeched, doing a piss poor job of calming himself down. “I’ll fucking  _ kill _ you,” he growled, “You ungreatful fucking coke whore.” 

Bert lunged forward with his untouched fist, but he underestimated and Gerard grabbed his wrist, pulling him forward. He utilized the leverage as he used his free wrist to slam into Bert’s throat, knocking the air from his windpipe. Gerard wrapped his hand around Bert’s throat, still holding his wrist and leaning forward as he stared into Bert’s panicked eyes with his own unblinking set. “Not if I kill you first,” his whisper sounded like a promise. 

Bert wheezed and cried out as Gerard threw him to the ground by his throat, ruthlessly kicking him in the ribs multiple times and hearing a handful give way with a sickening  _ crack _ . Gerard dropped to his knees, delivering the first official blow to Bert’s face with his closed fist. Bert had all but ruined Gerard’s life, and it was time he paid for it.

It’s not that the rest of the band couldn’t stop Gerard, it was more that they all knew Bert had it coming to him, and none of them were all that fond of him to begin with. Ray was drunk, standing with Bob and apathetically watching Gerard maul Bert on the venue floor, more or less monitoring the situation. Mikey and Frank were sitting in a loveseat nestled against the wall, doped up off of their asses, heads in the clouds. Mikey  _ had _ put in serious effort to ease them off of their vice during their downtime, but this tour had brought trials with it and they were once again heavily relying on their crutch. 

Frank watched the beating unfold with awe, as if he were viewing a movie. His mind was slow, and he had a hard time comprehending that it was Bert and Gerard, real people that he knew, one of whom he loved, that were fighting like wild dogs. Frank blinked as Gerard damn-well blackened Bert’s eye on impact. Not long after, a piercing crunch that echoed in the backstage chambers alerted them of Bert’s broken nose. 

Frank’s gaze wandered to the window above Gerard’s head, a flat dial tone tuning in his ears as his lover’s wet sobs and slurred gibberish filled the room, paired with breaking bones and sputtered pleading from Bert. Frank vaguely noted that the leaves in the massive New York trees were  _ just  _ starting to turn from greens to yellows and light oranges in the early autumn. They were changing, like Gerard, and soon they would all fall down. The leaves weren’t nearly as red as Bert’s crimson blood, he thought, as Gerard gripped Bert’s shirt by both of the shoulders, repeatedly slamming his upper torso and head against the concrete floor.

Blood spattered with each blow, trickling from Bert’s broken teeth, busted lip, broken nose, and God only knew what else. Still, Bert managed to stare at Gerard with fear in his one good eye, trying hopelessly to form words. “ _ Please… _ I… fucking saw… you and Frank… this summer… Stupid… stunt…” Even on the brink of death, Bert couldn’t help but mock Gerard into madness. 

“ _ Gerard _ , that’s enough,” Ray’s voice rang out amongst the ugly mess of noises and the curly-haired man hovered closer, preparing himself to pull Gerard off of Bert. 

Gerard wasn’t stopping, he wasn’t hearing Ray because Bert’s rasping, broken words were flooding his ears even though they were too quiet for anyone else to catch. “ _ Fuck you, _ ” Gerard shrieked, spiralling further into oblivion and curling his hands around Bert’s throat. He was tempted to draw his switchblade and hold it to Bert’s vulnerable throat, but his hands worked faster than his desires. He squeezed as hard as he possibly could, Bert’s face turning red and then blue as his eyes fluttered. Even after loss of consciousness, Gerard wasn’t stopping. He’d only rest when Bert’s face was unrecognizable to them all. 

“Gee,  _ stop _ , you’re going to fucking  _ kill him _ !” Mikey’s voice was a panicked, half-aware shout. He staggered in a weak attempt to pull the lost soul off of the unconscious one, but Bob acted first and more effectively. 

Bob all but ripped Gerard from Bert’s bruised, unconscious body, pulling him upwards. Gerard wasn’t entirely unharmed -- Bert had resisted as much as he could -- but he wasn’t in the worse state by a long shot. He struggled back and they scuffled momentarily, but Bob avoided his randomly flying fists and managed to pin him to the wall beside the loveseat, where Frank watched dazedly from the tattered brown couch. Bob wasn’t paying attention to Frank, though, his focus on Gerard’s lost, tired, wired eyes. He truly couldn’t locate the Gerard that he had first met, the one that was still an addict, but not an inherently violent one. Bob gripped Gerard’s clawed-up face with both of his hands, holding him steady against the wall by use of his elbows digging into Gerard’s chest. “I know I’ve only known you for a few months, but this  _ isn’t you,”  _ Bob pleaded with him, trying to snap Gerard out of his murderous craze, “You  _ don’t _ wanna do this, Gerard.” 

Gerard growled, thrashing and struggling against Bob. He strongly considered biting his hand and was gearing up to spit in his face when Bob’s words stirred his heart.

“Think of the band, think of home, think of  _ Frank,”  _ Bob tried desperately, and upon uttering Frank’s name, he sighed in relief and loosened up his grip as Gerard relaxed beneath Bob’s entrapment. 

“Frank,” a little bit of humanity returned to Gerard’s pupils, worry overcoming him, “I came out here for Frank.” Gerard was obviously confused, like he couldn’t remember where on earth he was, let alone that the tattooed boy he was seeking out was sitting right next to him. He wasn’t sure at what point he’d staggered into his unseeing subconscious, but he was now positive he had blacked out again. 

“I’m right here,” Frank offered, gently gripping Gerard’s wrist as Bob let Gerard go completely. Frank gazed up at Gerard lovingly, possibly the only soul that wasn’t horrified by Gerard’s display, or terrified of the man himself. Still, he had nothing but warmth. 

Gerard looked down, shocked to see Frank. A couple of tears slid involuntarily down his cheeks and he turned as Bob backed off, dropping to his knees beside the couch. He held the arm of the seat with white knuckles and rested his forehead against the armrest, choking a little. “Frankie,” he gasped, loathing that he was asking this again, “What did I  _ do _ ?”

Frank furrowed his eyebrows, hurting deeply for Gerard. His chest ached in empathy and tears leaked from the corner of Frank’s olive eyes. He ran his fingers soothingly through Gerard’s hair, moving his other hand from his wrist to cover the back of Gerard’s hand in an attempt to be strong for him. “I really don’t know, G,” Frank whispered, all of the answers evading him, “I’m so sorry.” 

Mikey, Ray, Frank, and Bob would have all proved their allegiance to Gerard that night if they’d had the time, but it was impossible to miss the commotion, and someone had called it in. It was only a matter of minutes from the time Bob had talked him down to the moment police officers and paramedics peeled backstage. 

As the paramedics lifted Bert’s broken body from the floor onto a stretcher, the police located the culprit and restrained Gerard’s arms behind his back as he let out a panicked shout. Ignoring him, the police officer began his pitch, “You’re under arrest for assault and battery. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you…” 

“Don’t hurt him!” Frank cried out, jumping up to protect Gerard, but another officer restrained Frank before he could lunge forward. “What are you  _ doing?!  _ You don’t understand! It looks way worse than it actually is!” Frank wailed, trying desperately to convince them of the misunderstanding. Gerard wasn’t a criminal, he was an addict. “Don’t fucking tell them  _ anything,  _ Gee!” Frank yelled, trying so hard to escape the cop’s grasp and reach him, but it was for naught. 

“Frankie,” Gerard said, his eyes scared and voice rising as the officer started hauling him away, “ _Frankie!_ I fucking _love_ _you_!” 

Only two weeks into it, and the rest of his band was watching with great agony as Gerard destroyed their opportunity touring with Jimmy Eat World. The band couldn’t play a single show if their lead singer was in a New York City holding cell. 

*

Frank had insisted the rest of the band go home, but he was camping out in a shitty motel, waiting to hear some news,  _ any  _ news really. He was more sober than he’d been in the past year, alert for the sake of getting Gerard the fuck out of the city. He’d been in the police station every single day since the arrest, demanding to see him but never winning the cause. The young officer with sandy hair would simply roll his green eyes and send him away, suggesting he check back the next day. 

Still, Frank persisted, and on the fifth day, the officer finally sighed and leaned forward, engaging him in a way that was more than to just shoo him off. “Bail’s not posted yet,” he deadpanned.

“I don’t care,  _ just let me see him _ ,” Frank pleaded, “You already know I’d be camping out at your door if it wasn’t illegal,” he stressed, folding his arms across his chest to mimic the officer.

“I don’t doubt that,” the cop scoffed, “You’re saying you  _ don’t  _ want to share a cell with him? He’s just a  _ peach  _ screaming at all hours, day and night.”

“Just let me talk to him,” Frank was begging at this point, ignoring the way the guard was trying to get under his skin. This was the most headway he’d ever made with the uniform, so he persisted, “Maybe I can help with your problem.”

“Unless you smuggled in drugs, doubt it,” the officer snipped, but he sighed again and stood up, his hand moving to the extensive key ring on his belt. “You’ve got ten minutes and that’s  _ it  _ until bail is posted,” he allowed.

Frank gasped a little, still not really having expected a yes. “Thank you,  _ thank you,”  _ he said sincerely, very much hating how he’d been having to kiss up to a cop as of late. 

The uniform merely grunted, leading him down one long hall that branched off to a dozen or so different rooms, each broken into four holding cells. When they neared the end, Frank felt pins on the back of his neck as he heard what was undeniably Gerard wailing variations of “Frank Iero” at the top of his lungs. He swallowed with difficulty as they came to a halt in front of the last door on the right, Gerard’s screaming unbearably loud at this point. Frank was already shell shocked, and he couldn’t even see Gerard from behind the tiny slat of glass that was supposedly a window.

“You thought I was exaggerating?” The officer laughed somewhat cruelly at the look on Frank’s face, “Oh, no. We  _ literally  _ had to move him to the furthest cell from the front, with no roommates. So, you’ll have your privacy, anyway,” he snarked. He’d probably caught onto Frank’s forlorn-in-love act on the second day. “I’ll be back for you in  _ ten _ minutes,” he reminded.

As he unlocked the door, Gerard’s cries subsided momentarily, but upon seeing only the cop, Gerard immediately started up again, “I don’t want food! Where’s  _ Iero _ ?! Fuck  _ off _ , unless you have my Frank,” Gerard spat from the ground in the corner of his cell, but his face went frigid and his vocals ceased almost immediately. 

“I don’t know any Frank, unless that’s this guy,” the officer motioned as he appeared from behind the door. He gave Frank a small shove into the room and locked the door behind him, disappearing back down the hall. 

“Frankie,” Gerard choked, but this time his voice was a quarter its original size, so much more timid in the presence of the only one he’d been calling for, “You came.” Gerard had rejected his bed and favoured the concrete corner. He abandoned it quickly, crawling across the floor of the cell to the bars keeping him captive. He stuck his arm out, reaching for Frank. 

Frank stumbled a little from the shove, but he closed the distance between himself and Gerard quickly. “Of course I came, stupid,” he breathed, but even he hardly believed he’d managed to get through. He dropped to Gerard’s level, clasping his hand in both of his own once he was on his knees.

Gerard was quiet, save for his ragged breaths and occasional hiccup-like sobs. He pulled Frank’s hands through the bars and pressed his cheek against them, eyes shut tightly as he savoured Frank’s warmth and familiarity. 

Frank smiled sadly, his heart so tight. He let go of Gerard’s icy hand to cradle both of his cheeks. He took the time to truly soak in Gerard’s state so that he at least had something useful to report back to the others, but he wanted to look away. Frank wasn’t sure if Gerard had always been this skinny and the baggy jumpsuit just accentuated it, or if he had dropped a hundred pounds in the last... what, week, month, or year? Surely Gerard hadn’t lost that much weight during the past week of withdrawal, but Frank had truly never quite noticed just how tiny he had gotten until the jumpsuit was swallowing him alive. More than that, though, Gerard was unkempt: his hair greasy and tangled, the bags under his eyes nearly black, and his nails caked with dirt and blood. Some of the scratches that Bert had left on his face were healed, but the deeper ones were red and irritated as Gerard had clearly been continually picking at the scabs. He was in possibly the roughest state Frank had ever seen, and that was saying a lot.

“Gee…” he finally whispered once he found his voice, pulling Gerard from the comfort of Frank’s touch and back to his reality of the cell, “We don’t have a lot of time. When’s the last time you slept?”

“You don’t sleep in withdrawal, Frankie,” Gerard smiled brokenly, vibrating in delirium. He squeezed Frank’s hand, wishing he could pull him into the cell, into a proper embrace. 

“Right,” Frank agreed, “How could I forget?” He sighed, closing his eyes and trying to unscramble his thoughts. He was running out of time. “Bert’s alive,” he started, trying to get all of the facts to Gerard, “But he’s still in a hospital here, he’s not looking good.” Frank had to visit him at least once to beg him not to press serious charges against Gerard, but he was broken and bloodied and, worst of all, stubborn. 

“Who gives a fuck about Bert?” Gerard dismissed the news, scooting closer to the cell bars and gripping both of Frank’s hands in each of his, “When am I getting out of here?”

Frank clenched his jaw, hating that he didn’t have an answer. “Soon, I hope,” he tried, “They still haven’t posted bail, fuck, I’m sorry.”

Gerard frowned deeply, quaking as he held Frank’s hands. “How long can it possibly take?” he said despondently, “Frank, you gotta get me the fuck outta here. I can’t die in here.”

“You’re not going to die in here,” Frank promised, his heart breaking at Gerard’s panicked, sunken state. “But… even when I get you out, you still have a court case, a sentencing…” Frank trailed off, hating having to even think about it. Gerard would never survive in prison, Frank would never see him again. He blinked, pushing the thought out of his mind and resolving to grovel at Bert’s feet some more while he waited to pay bail.

“Don’t make me think about that right now,” after all this time, Gerard still had a knack for speaking what Frank was thinking. He sighed, closing his eyes, but they shot back open when a loud, obvious whistle wafted through the locked door. “He’s coming back,” Gerard said, dismayed. It was too soon. He pressed his cheeks between the bars, staring with panic, “Frankie, please, just... I love you.” 

Frank crawled closer to the cell and met Gerard, kissing him desperately and squeezing his hands for dear life. “I love you too,” he whispered, nipping his lip and pulling his hands back as the door opened and the officer reappeared. 

“Time’s up,” he said, “Let’s go.” 

Frank bit his lip ring and stood up, looking at Gerard apologetically. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he lied, knowing full well and loathing that he wouldn’t see him until bail was posted. 

“Frank…  _ Frank _ !” Gerard snapped as he headed for the door. Frank turned around expectantly, starting a little bit when his eyes locked with Gerard’s. The warmth that was there just moments ago was gone, replaced with empty and ruthless desperation. “If you let me rot in here,” Gerard gripped the cell bars so hard his hands shook, “I’ll never fucking forgive you.” His voice was grave and dark, and it jostled Frank in a way Gerard didn’t often manage.

“I-” Frank started, “I  _ won’t _ , if it’s the last fucking thing-” The guard yanked on his shoulder and pulled him from the room.

The cop shut and locked the door. “You’re too good for him, you know,” he said offhandedly as he led Frank back down the hall. 

Frank didn’t hear the officer’s backhanded compliment. All he could focus on was Gerard as the howling resumed, “Bring him  _ back!  _ Frank!  _ Frank! Bring him the fuck back!”  _

*

The drive home was less tense and more quiet than anything. The daytime officer who watched the holding cells had grown inexplicably fond of Frank and had tipped him off as to when Gerard’s bail would be posted. Well, it was that, Frank’s incessant checking in, Gerard’s ceaseless screeching, or a twisted combination. Regardless, it didn’t matter because Frank was present to pay bail the minute it was posted. He hadn’t even hesitated at the hefty fee, anxiously handing over whatever wad of cash was required for him to get Gerard back. 

He was released, changed back into his grimy clothing caked in Bert’s dried blood, and he walked down the long hallway to Frank, wringing his wrists. “Thanks,” Gerard muttered.

“I got you, always,” Frank murmured, kissing his temple and wrapping an arm around his shaky shoulders. He looked away when he noticed that Gerard’s collarbones peered jaggedly above his stretched shirt neckline. He instead focused on guiding him out of the station, where Ray and Mikey had pulled up and were waiting for them. 

Together, they climbed into the car and headed back to Belleville. Gerard sat in the back seat adjacent to Mikey in the passenger seat. Frank sat beside Gerard, a hand on his thigh as the taller continued to wring his wrists and fidget. He was worsening the holes in his jeans by subconsciously picking and tearing at them. Gerard should’ve been through the worst of it, but he was clearly still withdrawing, fiending badly. 

Frank honestly didn’t know if two weeks was enough to keep him clean. He covered one of Gerard’s restless hands with his own, intertwining their fingers and trying to distract him. “Heard you missed me,” he said softly. 

Gerard smiled sheepishly, “Maybe a little.”

“I missed you too. I was at the station every day,” Frank mumbled, squeezing his hand.

Gerard was past caring that there was company present, unabashed as he leaned over and kissed Frank for a few moments. God, he’d missed him more than a little. Frank was a bit chastened, but he kissed back. Gerard found it so easy to get lost, it was Frank who had to break the kiss. They didn’t say anything more, just smiling stupidly at each other and breathing shallowly, their foreheads resting together. 

Mikey averted his eyes for the sake of privacy (even if Ray was doing the exact opposite by peering in the rearview mirror with a goofy grin) but twisted in his seat to look at Gerard when the moment passed. “We all missed you man, like, a  _ lot _ ,” he said, genuine. 

Gerard turned his attention from Frank to Mikey, smiling disbelievingly, “You’re just saying that.” He was having an easier time holding a conversation with Frank in his grasp.

“I’m not. It’s been… quiet without you,” Mikey elicited small chuckles from all of them, but his face dropped with guilt and the conversation quickly turned serious, “Man, I know we’ve been through a lot of shit in the past couple years, but… I don’t know, I’m just… I’m sorry I wasn’t a better brother. I should’ve tried to protect you like you did for me when we were kids.”

“You were never a bad brother. It’s been  _ me _ . I’m sorry… for everything I said to you this year, especially. Twelve days doesn’t seem like a long time, but when you’re sober and alone with your thoughts... ” Gerard bit his lip, his eyes going out of focus for a second. He managed to reel himself back in and offered the tiniest of smiles, “It’s not like I really did that much, anyway. Just stopped you from opening the front door and showed you how to work the cassette player.” 

Mikey laughed a little, unable to help himself from reaching into the back seat and gently squeezing Gerard’s shoulder. He often found himself missing the times they were inseparable. Sure, they’d been at each other’s throats in such close vicinity, but now that they’d been released to the world and Gerard had fallen deep into a hole, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into their long forgotten space station (blanket fort) together and shut out the rest of the world. “You did more than that. You constructed the  _ best  _ hideaways and, fuck man, I don’t know how you discovered those horror movies, but watching them with you are some of my favourite memories,” maybe this was Mikey’s last ditch effort at bridging the unspoken gap that had grown between the Way brothers, but he couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth, “I just… I love you, man. I missed you.” 

Gerard chuckled, reminiscing, “I always covered your eyes when it was too scary for you.” He flushed a little, dropping his head sheepishly and finding it incredibly hard to accept Mikey’s affection; he felt like he didn’t deserve to be forgiven. Still, he eventually returned Mikey’s speckled gaze and reached forward to muss his hair. “I love you too, little brother. Thanks for that,” Gerard rubbed the back of his own neck and settled into Frank’s side. He was exhausted of conversation and quickly returning to his clammy, shaky state, but so comforted by his current company. 

*

The last half hour of the car ride was silent save for the radio and Ray’s humming along to it. Mikey stared out the window and watched the scenery become increasingly more familiar, his mind preoccupied. Frank was resting the side of his head in the crook of Gerard’s neck, eyes closed as he absentmindedly traced random patterns over his back. Ray’s eyes occasionally drifted to Frank and Gerard, checking in on them, for a good reason, too. 

Gerard was staring intensely out of his window, growing seemingly more rigid the further into Jersey they got. When Ray pulled into the outskirts of their neighborhood, Gerard made Frank jump slightly by hastily announcing, “You can just drop me off here. I’ll make it home fine.”

Ray furrowed his brows, slowing the car and looking at Gerard through the rearview, “Are you  _ sure _ about that? You haven’t even changed or showered.”

Gerard frowned, stubborn. “ _ Yes _ ,” he challenged, “ _ Seriously _ , stop the car. Please.” 

“Gee…” Mikey started, uneasy. 

Frank chewed the inside of his cheek as Ray brought the car to a halt, Gerard’s hand already on the door handle. “I’ll go with you,” he told Gerard impulsively, “I’ll make sure he gets home, just let us out here,” Frank nodded to Ray. 

Gerard raised an eyebrow but merely shrugged. Ray turned in his seat to look at them both. “Don’t be stupid,” he said, squeezing each of their arms, “Glad you two are back.”

Gerard gave the smallest smile, patting Ray’s hand. “Thanks, dude. Glad to be back. We’ll see you guys later,” Gerard was already halfway out of the car when he had finished speaking.

Frank followed but doubled back, sticking his head inside the open door and smiling apologetically. He managed to say, “Thanks for the ride, Ray,” before Gerard tugged him back out and shut the car door, waving them off and pulling Frank across the street. 

Ray sat back, making no move to leave, sighing as he watched Gerard.

“What are you doing?” Mikey asked, frowning in confusion.

“Confirming my suspicions,” Ray answered, his face grave as a burgundy car with tinted windows rolled up across the street. He watched Gerard eagerly get inside, Frank following with worry on his face. He wondered how the hell Gerard had managed to get away with texting his dealer on the drive back without anyone realizing he’d done so. Ray put the car in drive and pulled off, shaking his head. “I’m worried about G, Mikey,” he said seriously, but there was nothing he could do by sitting in his car and watching them complete a transaction, “I don’t know how much longer he can keep this up…” 

“I know,” Mikey said. Ray didn’t have to remind him, he was already regretting not saying more to Gerard on the car ride home, “Me too.” 

By the time Ray and Mikey had left the scene, Gerard was already in his plug’s car making grabby hands. “Gimme, gimme,” he said needily, waving cash at them. 

Frank shut the door quickly, silent as he watched Gerard with dismay. This was his first time ever sitting in on a deal, and he wondered if Gerard acted like this all the time.

The blonde passenger laughed, snatching the cash from his hand and counting it before slapping three pearls, an eight ball, in Gerard’s hand. “Do a couple laps,” he told the driver before looking back at Gerard and surveying his crusty clothes, “You look rough, where you been? And who’s this?” he nodded to Frank. 

“Arrested, my boyfriend,” Gerard answered shortly, focused on his goodies. He didn’t even notice Frank’s eyes go wide when Gerard claimed monogamy, to his dealers of all people. 

“Rough,” the passenger answered simply, so Frank took that to mean he wasn’t going to get kicked out of the vehicle. The driver weaved through the neighborhood as Gerard opened one of the baggies. His snuff jar had been lost, or more likely confiscated by the police, so he resorted to loading his lengthy pinky nail with powder and snorting multiple small bumps.

When the shakes finally subsided for the first time in almost two weeks, Gerard sat back and sighed with a shudder, blinking a few times. “I’m fuckin’ back,” he grinned at Frank, “Want some?” He asked out of reflex, just so happy to be reunited with Snow White that he momentarily forgot that it was Frank who had joined him on the ride, not one of his party friends. 

The last time Gerard had offered coke to Frank, the guitarist had screamed bloody murder until Gerard fled the apartment. He’d been so offended that Gerard had the audacity to offer it to him when it had forever been clear how much Frank hated the chemical. This time, though, his face initially twisted in disgust but he held his tongue from lashing out. “Seriously?” was all he said, a tinge of annoyance revealing itself.

Gerard smiled crookedly, but he didn’t take back his offer. “Yeah, seriously. Come  _ on _ , Frankie, face it. I’m going to fucking jail. They’ll either get me on battery or on possession. Just… have some  _ fun _ with me before I go,  _ please _ .” Gerard watched Frank with intense eyes. He talked fast, the white having instantly brought all of his infinite energy back. He appreciated the dealers for just driving and staying out of the conversation while he tried to convince Frank how badly he wanted and  _ needed _ him to stay by his side until his day of reckoning had come.

Frank frowned, swallowing hard as he weighed all of the options. He absolutely did not want to enable Gerard, but he was so, so sick of fighting him tooth and nail over this inescapable drug. Plus, he was right; there was no way he was getting out of jail time and Frank was still terrified of the very real possibility that Gerard wouldn’t make it through his sentence. The last thing he wanted was to be dejected and disconnected from Gerard during the minimal remaining time they had together. Finally, Frank came to a very hesitant resolve, “Fuck it. If you’re in, I’m in. Cut me a line.” 

Gerard’s eyes widened in shock. “Wait,  _ really _ ? I didn’t think you’d actually say yes,” he furrowed his brows, “Are you sure?” The last thing Gerard wanted was to be responsible for Frank getting hooked. As soon as he’d said yes, Gerard immediately started second guessing himself.

Frank scoffed, “Don’t offer it if you aren’t serious. If you’re going on a bender, so am I,” he said firmly. He wouldn’t let Gerard go at it alone this time, even if it was at his own expense. 

Gerard side-eyed him but obliged, preparing a line on the surface of a cd case that the passenger handed back to him. He passed it over, watching Frank anxiously. He was the biggest hypocrite on earth, but he wanted to tell Frank to stop before he’d even started.

It was too late, though. Frank had already pulled out a five dollar bill and rolled it, leaning down to snort his first line  _ ever _ from the cd case. When he lifted his head and looked at Gerard, he was an entirely different person. He was like the excitable Frank that had auditioned for the band, but on steroids. His eyes were saucers and he gripped Gerard’s arm urgently, “I’m  _ in _ ,” he confirmed. There was no way he could’ve truly understood Gerard’s headspace until now. He felt like he could do taxes, win the court case, save the whole damn world. Frank turned to the driver after handing the cd case back to the passenger, “Take us home,” he said demandingly, sure of himself. His eyes trained back on Gerard and he slid his hand up his arm, poking his fingers up the sleeve of Gerard’s t-shirt, “We have some catching up to do.”

\--

Frank was quiet for a long, long time, his eyes closed. It was well past dusk now, and he’d been sitting in the grass since the early morning. Thinking back, Frank regretted ever doing blow but at the same time, he would’ve done it all again, for Gerard. “I really fucking hate cocaine,” he whispered to the chill, empty night’s air. 

“I know,” Gerard’s reply was fainter than a whisper. 

The silence swallowed them again as Frank mourned their past, angry tears rolling down his cheeks and dripping into his lap. Eventually, he broke the silence again, “I had a hell of an easier time quitting than you did.” He didn’t say it to rub it in, it was more matter-of-fact than anything, and Gerard knew this.

“Thank God for that,” Gerard agreed, and the stillness of conversation stretched on as Frank lost himself in his thoughts. 

“I can still taste it sometimes,” Frank said offhandedly after some time, “Smell it, too.”

Gerard’s frown was apparent in his voice, but he couldn’t hold his tongue before the words slipped out, “I wish I could.” His response plummeted them back into what felt like neverending hush as Frank closed his eyes and bowed his head. Their bender together, too, felt as if it had happened only days ago. 

\--

Fresh out of New York’s finest holding cell, Gerard had stumbled out of his dealer’s car with Frank, both of whom were riding an already immaculate high. Maybe it was greedy but now that it had been done, Gerard was elated that Frank was on his level, feeling connected to him in an entirely new way. They’d loudly made their way up the stairs to their second story apartment. Frank was all over Gerard, laughing because he couldn’t take his own advances seriously due to how unkempt his partner was. 

When they entered their apartment for the first time in a little more than a month, they both sighed in relief. “Before we do  _ anything _ , you need a fuckin’ shower,” Frank told Gerard firmly with a snicker. 

“But I  _ just _ got you back,” Gerard protested, tugging at the hem of Frank’s shirt needily, “I’m not doing anything else ever again without you.” 

Frank laughed giddily and smacked Gerard’s chest, but the butterflies in his stomach couldn’t deny his ridiculous request. 

Before they hopped in the shower, Frank swallowed his urge to refuse the drug and instead let Gerard guide him on a trip he’d never imagined taking. They stood huddled in the bathroom as they quickly re-upped with a couple of bumps, nursing their high. Gerard made a point to put the opened bag of remaining snow on a table outside of the bathroom so that the steam didn’t ruin it, noting how much he missed his trusty snuff jar. 

Together they stripped and climbed into the bathtub under the warm stream, giggling like school children as they got sudsy and soaped up each other’s backs and hair. Gerard’s hands kept drifting down Frank’s chest and back, squeezing his ass, but Frank just squeaked and guffawed, smacking him away. “Focus,” he demanded, and Gerard raised his hands in mock defense with a grin each time, submitting and continuing to wash away the layers of grime from the past couple of weeks. 

Frank kept Gerard on track long enough to thoroughly get him cleaned up. He took his time and pressed close under the spray of water as he cleaned the remaining angry scratches on Gerard’s face with care. Gerard smiled, stupidly in love and hyper focused, hands patiently resting on the small of Frank’s back. He let Frank thumb at his face under the water until the last of the dirt and Gerard and Bert’s blood had all washed down the drain. 

When Frank was satisfied with how squeaky clean Gerard was, his thumbing at his face slowed and he held his jaw in his hand, a thumb resting on his split lip. Frank stood in the shower with him like money didn’t matter, losing track of time as they stared at each other, their wet, overgrown hair sticking to their faces. Gerard kissed the pad of his damp digit, never breaking eye contact as he kneaded his fingers into the small of Frank’s back.

Frank sighed in content, finally closing the space between them and moving his hand in favour of kissing Gerard deeply. He wrapped his arms around Gerard’s shoulders, holding him in a tight embrace as they lazily made out, tongues mingling and teeth nipping. They stood, pressed together as warm water trickled down their faces, kissing until their bodies were purny and they were forced to come up for air. Frank grinned dazedly as he shut off the shower and they climbed out. Gerard grabbed a couple towels and they dried off before walking naked through the apartment to redress in clean clothes. 

Gerard was relieved to be in a fresh, soft t-shirt and sweats. He carried an armful of clothes to Frank’s room and knocked on the open door, leaning on the frame. He gazed at Frank who was half dressed and pulling a t-shirt over his pale, inked back. “Mind if I camp out here for a while?” he asked, motioning with his armful of clean clothing.

Frank looked over and grinned a little. “Sure,” he said as Gerard dropped his pile in an empty laundry basket, “That is,  _ if  _ we sleep.” 

Gerard raised an eyebrow and smirked, teasing, “You’re really embracing this whole thing, huh?”

Frank just shrugged, his face suggestive and smug. “When in Rome,” he replied, “I think it’s time for a re-up.” 

*

The pair had been home for a few hours now and twilight had settled in. As they burned through the eight ball on the living room coffee table, they spoke rapidly and caught up, reminisced, theorized, and eventually found themselves conceptualizing an entity known to only them as “The Cancer Patient”. They weren’t entirely sure how they’d gotten there, but as Frank pulled out his electric and Gerard located a pen and paper, they honed in on the image of their next album. 

They’d originally been taking breaks to smoke on the balcony like good tenants, but their ideas were flowing so earnestly that they’d eventually thrown courtesy out the window and brought the ashtrays inside. Hope for getting the damage deposit back was minimal ever since hosting the coke party, so they chain smoked inside without regret and filled the ash trays as fast as Gerard filled double-sided pages with lyrics. 

They already had Mama and The Black Parade from a few months back, two demos for an otherwise nonexistent album, and they’d since had no satisfying way of tying the songs together. Now, though, Frank and Gerard were spewing out dozens of lyrics and riffs, mapping out the notion and finding ways to subtly link each song back to their theory of The Cancer Patient. 

“This is fucking good, right?” Gerard asked, pulling his nose back from both the rails he’d just snorted and the page of lyrics he’d filled, “Do you think the others are gonna like this, or are we off the deep end?”

Frank was rapidly reading over a different page, absorbing information so, so easily with the assistance from the upper. It was a complete opposite experience from his usual vice, the percocets that made his brain so foggy. “They’re gonna fucking love it, you’re a god damn genius,” Frank said asuredly, “This album’s gonna be fuckin’ amazing.” 

*

Upon Frank’s prediction, the two in fact did not sleep that night, writing and playing the guitar until their fingers bled and they’d exhausted their creativity. Various neighbors had pounded on all sides of their apartment at differing times throughout the night, but the duo could not be stopped. By the time the sun was rising, they essentially had the whole album written. It just felt like there was one song missing to complete their vision, but they couldn’t quite idealize it. 

They decided to quit before frustration overcame them and shelved the nearly-completed notes to focus on launching into day two of their unplanned bender. “So, what’s on the books, my love?” Frank asked Gerard, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands as he watched his slender counterpart break open the third and final pearl they had just picked up the day before. 

Gerard smiled to himself at the pet name, but his eyes focused on the lines he was dividing. “Well, we’re running a little low, and I really fuckin’ need a new jar. So I was thinking we could pick up, stop at a smoke shop, get some pizza, and see if we run into anyone on the way. What say you?” Gerard asked as he looked up from the plate he’d finished prepping. Conversation had been coming so easily between them, their minds convening in ways that agreed instead of clashed. The powdered illusion made them feel like a perfect, unstoppable couple, as if entering a very overdue but twisted honeymoon phase. 

Frank looked at the designer’s breakfast, four powdered lines on an ornate plate. The irony was somehow tangible. “Sounds perfect. I wanna keep busy today,” Frank assented. 

“Getting tired already?” Gerard teased, nudging him. 

“You fuckin’ wish.” 

*

Gerard and Frank were happy as ducks, clad with a new vial and their bellies filled for the first time since the bender had started. The two were exiting the pizza shop with two final vegetarian slices dripping with grease. They walked openly hand-in-hand with the palms that weren’t wrangling cheese on dough, silently and spontaneously coming to terms to publicly display their affection where they never would’ve before. 

Gerard was  _ just _ telling Frank how surprised he was that they hadn’t run into anyone, the tinkle of the shop’s bell alerting their exit, when one of Gerard’s old party friends nearly plowed into them on the sidewalk. “ _ Hey,  _ watch where you’re-” they started irritably, but their face changed drastically when they recognized Gerard, and then Frank from the party, “Holy shit,  _ Gee _ ! Where you  _ been _ ? Oh, wait, aren’t you two supposed to be on tour?” They vaguely recalled Gerard saying something about taking the party on the road. 

Gerard laughed, looking at Frank with shared amusement at Murphy’s inescapable Law. “Hey, Ryan,” he greeted, looking over his acquaintance from the party scene. The non-binary twink was androgynous as ever, wearing white heels, skin tight acid-washed jeans, and the same pink fur coat Gerard had borrowed with a white fishnet shirt underneath. Their cheeks were caked in glitter and their hair was teased in a trendsetting emo fashion. Gerard had always been fond of them, and he answered casually, “Yeah, we were supposed to be. We got a little sidetracked along the way,” he shrugged. Frank squeezed his hand, nodding along as he tore off another bite from his slice of pizza. 

“Well, that’s all the better for us, isn’t it?” they always played the optimist, but they were also too oblivious to think of asking what had happened for the tour to be cancelled, “Jersey missed you, and while you were gone, Miss Molly became all the rage. Coke is out, Molly is  _ in  _ this fall, baby. 2005 couldn’t get better!” 

Frank raised an eyebrow, asking with his mouth full, “You mean, like, ecstasy?” For the most part, he could not believe he was openly having this conversation in broad daylight in front of a pizza shop on a busy street, especially as three clearly queer people who were all high and probably talking all too-loudly about street drugs. 

“That’s the one, cutie,” Ryan chirped, their hand disappearing into the fluffy dyed fur and reappearing with a tiny, sealed ziploc bag. “May I interest you? Free samples for my friends,” they offered, biting their lip adoringly. 

Gerard and Frank looked at each other, their mental communications en pointe since Frank had started using uppers. They only took seconds to come to a seemingly telepathic decision, and then Gerard stepped closer and subtly stuck his hand out to receive the package, “Yeah, why not?”

Ryan grinned and pressed the pouch into Gerard’s hand, kissing his cheek. “Pro tip: open the pills and snort it and you won’t have to wait an hour to feel it. Burns, like, ten times worse than blow but it works,” they tittered, advising this like it was a  _ good _ idea, “Oh, also, if it looks like brown sugar, it’s bad so don’t do it.” They skipped over to Frank and kissed his cheek too, winking at them both, “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around. Gotta dip, but happy you’re here!” 

Frank stood beside Gerard and turned to watch Ryan expertly work their heels down the street, kind of in awe at the confidence they held. “They sure are something,” he said, an eyebrow raised.

“Ryan Ross will always be an enigma to me,” Gerard laughed, watching them go before looking down at the baggie in his palm. Inside was a pair of tiny clear dissolvable capsules filled with grainy white contents, akin to sugar. After getting a decent look, he stuffed the ziploc into his pocket and took Frank’s hand back in his. “Let’s find a quiet corner,” he suggested, and Frank didn’t protest. 

They headed towards home, ducking into a still alleyway when they came across an acceptable candidate. Crouching in a corner, Gerard handed Frank his newest snuff jar before pulling a credit card out of his wallet and setting it on his taught thigh. He opened the baggie and took out the capsules, easily opening them and dumping the contents onto the card, discarding the capsule shells on the ground. He used a second plastic card to cut the sugar-like substance into two small lines while Frank scooped a couple of bumps from the jar for himself. 

When Gerard had prepared, he stood up straight and carefully passed the card to Frank, trading for the vial to re-up on white first. When he was finished and the glass was safely stored in his pocket, he rolled a bill and looked at Frank with wired eyes. “You ready for this? I don’t know what to expect, so…” he warned. 

Frank looked at Gerard, earnest in his promise from a day ago, “If you’re in, I’m in.”

Gerard drew a steadying breath and nodded. Frank carefully held out the credit card for him so that he could use one hand to hold the rolled bill and the other to plug his right nostril. He snorted the line with a sharp gasp, blinking hard and scrunching his nose as his sinuses and throat burned. “Shit, Ryan wasn’t kidding,” he choked after a second of heavy breathing. He traded the bill for the card and returned the favour for Frank, holding the world’s smallest tray suspended for him to utilize. 

Frank snorted the remaining ecstasy and mimicked Gerard, groaning and holding the back of his neck at the violent stinging. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed as Gerard took the bill back and stored the makeshift snuff tools in his wallet. 

He wrapped an arm around Frank and kissed his temple, trying to will away the nasty sensation, “Now we wait, I guess.” 

Wait long, they did not. The burn subsided, and by the time Gerard had lit a cigarette, his pupils were the size of the moon. “Holy shit,” he whispered, looking over at Frank to see if he was feeling the same effects. 

“Uh huh,” was all Frank could muster, his jaw dropped and his pupils blown. He’d had no idea it was possible for any human to be able to feel remotely close to what he was experiencing, let alone that the catalyst was readily available in the form of a capsule. The molly had sent so much fucking serotonin to his brain that he felt like he would never have to endure a single sad thought again. But more than that, he felt like every nerve in his body had a thousand nerves of their own. The slight tingling feeling that had subtly started in his fingertips rapidly spread throughout his arms, down his spine, to his toes. It was like waves of pleasure were washing over his skin, just from existing, from being alive. He followed Gerard’s suit, lighting a cigarette and revelling at the sensation of it, as if he were smoking for the very first time; the impact of smoking while high on E was inexplicable, but it made him want to smoke an entire carton to his face. He wanted to call Ryan back and rub his hands over that fluffy fur coat for hours, to feel fresh snowfall on his face, to have  _ sex.  _ Holy shit, the sex on this drug would be  _ incredible.  _ His eyes re-locked on Gerard’s and he couldn’t help but grin foolishly, because clearly his boyfriend was on the same train of thought yet again. Frank honestly wasn’t sure who was going to crack first, but the silent wager to withhold was bound to be broken soon. “Uh, what were we doing again?” Frank asked unsuredly, managing to break them both out of their heated thoughts. 

“I think we were headed home,” Gerard offered suggestively, wanting to get Frank in bed as soon as humanly possible. He was entranced by Molly’s toxins, too.

“Right. Home. Yes, let’s go,” Frank agreed, sliding his fingers over Gerard’s palm as he took his hand. They both shivered a little at the touch, senses heightened tenfold. 

The two walked briskly in the direction of their apartment, enjoying the chilly autumn air on their faces. They had to stop and shed a layer, tying their jackets around their waists because the ecstasy had heated them up so much that their shirts were sticking to their backs with sweat. Gerard couldn’t stop grinding his teeth, but the overall pleasure weighed out the negative side effects. Besides, chain smoking distracted him from grinding. “Look at the trees,” he commented, flicking a butt into the street and immediately lighting another, “When did they become so gorgeous?” He gazed at the aged giants, appreciating the vast sea of warm colours for the first time in forever. He’d been too caught up to really drink in the nature surrounding him, and he couldn’t remember looking at the changing leaves just for the sake of it since he was a kid. 

“They always have been, you just forgot to look,” Frank said softly, leaning into him a little as they walked. He followed Gerard’s gaze to appreciate the bountiful eye-food that autumn delivered them each year. They meandered in comfortable silence for a while, acknowledging the small pleasures of life. It was Frank who pulled up short, gasping a little in excitement. “ _ Thrift store,”  _ he declared urgently, moving to look in the shop-front window, “I haven’t been into one in  _ ages _ . Can we stop?”

Gerard just laughed, unbothered by how sidetracked they were getting on their trek home. The initial effects from the mdma was overwhelming and made it feel like everything they’d ever wanted to do needed to be done all at once, but now they were just enjoying the euphoria and spontaneity it brought them. “Of course,” he answered, happily holding open the shop door for Frank.

The pair moseyed around the cramped space, weaving around stacks of vintage magazines and books. VHS’ and 8-tracks were topped with shallow decorative bowls filled with tarnished brass spoons, trinkets, and jewelry. They had a couple of scares; with nervous laughter, just barely saving one tower from toppling over and creating a catastrophic domino effect. Slowly, their eyes had absorbed all they could and they accepted the fact that they would never truly be able to look at everything the piled, dusty store had in stock. They traipsed up to the front to see what was to offer in the guarded, expensive display.

“Maybe a new belt buckle,” Gerard commented offhandedly; his silver bat was well-loved and he couldn’t see it withstanding the years of wear much longer. 

“Ooh, yes,” Frank agreed enthusiastically, leaning over the display case and perusing the oddities that this shop deemed valuable. They stood side by side quietly, Gerard staring lovingly at Frank while Frank peered curiously into the well-lit case. Gerard averted his eyes and pretended to be looking at the display when Frank gasped a little and poked the cabinet, side tracked from his quest for a belt buckle in light of a delicate ring. It was a simple silver band upon first glance, but with closer inspection it revealed itself to be intricately carved, adorned with interweaved vines, tiny flowers, and thorns. “That is fucking  _ gorgeous,”  _ he whispered. 

Gerard leaned in interestedly and then waved the shopkeep over, “Can we get a closer look at that ring?”

The keep eyed the pair warily, mistrusting, but she obliged and pulled the band out of the locked display, setting it gently on top of the glass and sliding it towards them. “It’s $350, no negotiations,” she stated firmly, her eyes trained on them as if they were going to steal it. She said it as if she didn’t believe for a second that they could afford it.

Gerard scoffed a little as Frank picked up the ring to eyeball it with wonder, “What are you trying to say?” he countered.

“Nothing,  _ sir,  _ just that it’s $350. No negotiations,” the owner repeated herself, folding her arms across her chest and narrowing her eyes as Frank slid the ring onto each of his fingers, seeing if it would fit. 

Gerard paused to watch as well, turning back to the keeper when he observed that miraculously the only digit that the ring comfortably slid onto was Frank’s ring finger. “Fine, I don’t give a shit. I’ll take it,” Gerard said, his voice thick with spite. He pulled out his wallet and leafed through a wad of cash, slapping down the required amount and taking Frank’s arm. “Let’s get out of here, Frankie.” 

“Wait,  _ what _ ?” Frank’s eyes widened, but the owner seemed even more shocked than he was. Gerard didn’t respond, instead steering him towards the exit while the keep greedily scooped the cash off of the counter and double counted it. 

Gerard raised his arm and carelessly flipped her the bird as they left, walking a few paces down the street before he gripped Frank’s elbow to bring him to a stop. “Can I see it? I didn’t really get a good look,” he said innocently. 

Frank slid off the ring and handed it over. “Oh my  _ God _ , obviously, yeah. Why… what on earth possessed you to do that?” Frank asked wearily as he pulled out his American Spirits and lit a cigarette, “I don’t  _ need  _ this, you shouldn’t-” 

Frank’s voice died immediately as his heart jumped to his throat. When he looked up from the flame of his lighter, Gerard was on one knee on the sidewalk in front of a ramen shop where onlookers were curiously watching him hold out the ring Frank had just taken off moments ago. “Frank Iero, this feels long overdue if you ask me, and I know it’s, you know,  _ illegal _ , but will you marry me?” his eyebrows furrowed involuntarily out of nervousness, “I dunno, we could get our friends to put on a ceremony or something.”

Frank felt like he could faint. He’d never believed in all of his lifetimes that Gerard would be popping this question. Maybe it was the molly, or the blow, or just his undying affection for Gerard, but he couldn’t stop the  _ yes _ tumbling from his lips. “Yes, fuck,  _ yes,  _ obviously I’ll fucking marry you,” Frank laughed, his voice catching in excitement, “I  _ love _ you.” He covered his mouth with one hand to hide his staggered breathing and stupid smile, holding out his left hand for Gerard to officially slide the ring on.

Gerard carefully placed the ornate piece on Frank’s left ring finger, getting off his knees to wrap his arms around him, beaming. “I love you so fucking much,” he said, and Frank automatically removed his hand from his lips to receive a deep, genuine kiss from Gerard.

It was the cheers and clapping coming from inside the ramen shop that snapped them back to their surroundings, phone cameras once again focused on them. Even if they were a speculation solely for the spontaneity of the proposal, as soon as the video was uploaded, fans from their scene would be attaching names to their faces and rapidly discovering their engagement. 

Frank broke the kiss, blushing in self-awareness and giggling nervously as he rubbed the back of his neck and gave a weak wave to the viewers. It’s not like they had much privacy to begin with, especially since they always seemed to be making a scene in public, but they still looked at each other sheepishly. “I- Home, I think we were headed home?” Frank asked for clarification, his mind entirely scrambled from all the sidetracking and, like, getting engaged.

Gerard flushed too, unable to stop himself from laughing as he steered them away from the onlookers. The whole thing was ludicrous, but holy shit, he’d found it in him to actually ask, and Frank had said  _ yes _ . Frank Iero was his fiancé and nothing else mattered. He felt like he could die happy. 

As they giddily stumbled towards the apartment, tugging at each other in jest, Frank couldn’t keep Gerard from repeatedly sticking his thumb up to the flow of traffic. “Stop, Gee, someone’s gonna actually pull over,” he laughed, trying to push his arm down without success. 

“So what if they do? I’m tired of walking,” Gerard laughed too, entertained by the idea of hitch hiking. His eyes widened, though, and his big talk petered out when karma struck swiftly again and a car slowed for them. 

Frank clutched Gerard’s forearm as he dropped his universal pick-me-up symbol and the passenger window rolled down. They both sighed in relief when a young woman no older than 22 leaned over to get a look at them, smiling warmly. “Where are you two headed?” she asked, less wary of them than they were of her. 

“She could be a fan and break in later or some shit,” Frank whispered, still on edge, but a little less so in the presence of a woman.

Gerard ignored Frank’s words of caution. “Like, a ten minute drive this way,” Gerard nodded in the direction they were walking, “But we’ve been trying to get home  _ all _ day,” he joked.

The red-haired girl chuckled and unlocked the car doors, “I can swing that. Hop in.”

Frank started to say  _ are you sure _ , but Gerard scoffed and waved him off, grabbing his hand and pulling him into the car with a guffaw. 

“So, what’s your name?” Frank asked timidly as the driver pulled back into traffic and Gerard gave casual directions. She hadn’t visibly recognized them as musicians from alternative news headlines, so he allowed himself to relax back into the seat beside Gerard. 

“Lacey,” she answered, peering at them in the rearview mirror, “You two look like you’re having a  _ lot _ of fun for a Wednesday. What’s the occasion?”

“We just got  _ engaged _ ,” Gerard answered with a massive smile, holding up their intertwined hands to show off Frank’s ring. 

“Oh shit,  _ get it _ ,” she congratulated them in a funny little way, making both of them laugh in adoration. 

“Thanks,” they agreed together, smiling warmly at the driver. “You’re the first person we’ve told,” Frank said, his face breaking into renewed excitement. 

Lacey started to pose a question about the wedding, but at the same time, Gerard honed in on her hair and reached into the front seat, grabbing a few locks to examine. “I  _ love  _ this colour,” Gerard complimented, “What did you dye it with? It looks  _ so _ good. Do you think it would suit  _ me _ ? Oh my god, should I dye my hair  _ red _ ?” He let go of her hair to look at Frank with immediacy.

“Turn left here,” Frank said politely, ignoring Gerard completely but squeezing his hand in amusement. 

“Ouch,” Lacey laughed as she made the turn, but she indulged Gerard, “Go to Sally’s and look for the crimson shade, you could totally pull it off.” 

“This is us,” Frank said as the young woman brought the car to a stop in front of the apartment complexes. He leaned into the front seat, smiling goofily, “Thanks for the ride, and also for keeping him entertained.” 

Lacey gave Frank’s cheek an endearing pat. “Pay it forward. Good luck with your engagement,” she said with a supportive smile.

The effects of the ecstasy were not nearly close to subsiding yet, and Frank found it natural to lean in and kiss her cheek in appreciation. “I hope we cross paths again,” and then he was climbing out of the car in submission to Gerard’s demands. 

They called a final thanks and waved as the car pulled off, laughing and collapsing slightly into each other. “Holy shit, we just hitch hiked,” Gerard snickered.

“And we are  _ never _ doing that again. We got  _ lucky _ ,” Frank chided, but he couldn’t keep the grin from his face. 

Frank and Gerard had managed to stretch their three errands into a full day, but it was the best aimless day they’d had in a long, long time. They were finally home, though, and as soon as they stepped into the complex, they raced for the stairs and tripped over themselves to be the first to get a key in the doorknob. 

Frank managed to slide his key first, so Gerard settled for pressing up against Frank’s back and mouthing at his neck while Frank unlocked the door.

Frank shuddered in anticipation as Gerard’s hands roamed his belly, his touch amplified. He fumbled to get the door unlocked, distracted, but managed to let them inside, nearly tumbling into the foyer. Gerard laughed and kicked the door shut as they regained balance. Frank turned around to face him, taking his face in his hands and kissing Gerard with fervour. 

The electricity of their kiss was instant, and Gerard made a small noise in his throat, grabbing at Frank’s hips and wedging a knee between his legs as he instinctively began to guide him backwards toward the bedrooms. 

Frank let Gerard lead as he greedily licked into his mouth, biting and sucking on his lower lip. Everything felt better on molly: Gerard’s hands, the friction from his thigh, his lips. “Wait, wait,” Frank only broke the kiss to stop them as they were staggering down the hallway, gripping at the wall to steady them. He reached for the small display table, the only piece of furniture in the vicinity, and opened the small drawer to grab a tube of lube.

Gerard raised an eyebrow and chortled, “When did you-”

“It’s the most central place, I thought it made sense. Was I wrong?” Frank smirked, shoving the lube in his jeans pocket and swinging them around so that it was him guiding Gerard backwards. He needily tugged at his shirt, wasting no time. 

Gerard just laughed, amused by Frank’s logic, but he couldn’t disagree. He let Frank coax him out of his t-shirt, discarding it on the hallway floor and kissing him again as they neared Frank’s room. 

Frank held Gerard steady and upright with one hand hooked in the front of his waistline, the other negotiating with his belt. He moaned quietly into Gerard’s mouth as his tongue slid over the inside of Frank’s teeth, hands pushing up his shirt. They passed the threshold of the room and Frank glanced at the bed, his eyes fluttering shut as he deepened the kiss and walked Gerard back the few remaining paces. Frank unhooked his hand from Gerard’s pants to give a push on his chest, expecting to fall with him onto the bed. He undershot it and the kiss broke as Gerard fell back, pulling Frank with him, his back colliding with the edge of the bed and his ass hitting the floor. Frank landed in Gerard’s lap, straddling him.

“Nice one,” Gerard said, and they broke into laughter.

“Oops,” was all Frank could muster, too hungry to talk. He didn’t even bother to get up onto the bed, recapturing Gerard in a kiss as he successfully undid his belt buckle and opened his pants. 

Gerard grunted, so turned on by the rush of it all. They made out intensely, breathing heavily as they worked each other out of their clothes, focused on the end goal. Gerard kicked off his shoes but gave up trying to weasel out of his tight jeans from his position. He instead focused on undressing Frank until his lover was naked and lazily grinding down in his lap as they kissed heavily. He rocked his ass against Gerard’s erection through his pants, his eyes dark and sultry. Gerard dug through the pockets of Frank’s discarded pants to relocate the lube and squeezed some onto his fingers. 

Frank broke the kiss, shivering and moaning as Gerard slid the heel of his hand down the base of his spine, sending renewed waves of tingling stimulation through his body. His breath hitched as Gerard pressed his face forward, nipping and licking at Frank’s adam’s apple. His lubed middle finger slid down Frank’s cleft and teased at his hole. His other hand gripped a fistful of Frank’s ass to spread and hold him steady. All of the drugs in his system made it so easy to accept Gerard’s digit. Frank’s stomach kept flipping as showers of sparks erupt across his nerves when Gerard’s teeth sunk into his neck and simultaneously his middle finger eased in two knuckles deep. “ _ Fuck _ ,” Frank groaned, rocking his hips down after a second and welcoming the remainder of Gerard’s finger. He bared his neck as Gerard sucked a dark hickey onto it and clawed at his sharpened shoulder blades. 

Gerard grunted against Frank’s neck, leaning back into his touch with support from the foot of the bed. The nails on his back felt like an invitation, or a thank you card, and the sensations remained up to minutes after Frank’s hands had already latched onto another area. He focused on working Frank open, fingering him in time with his begging hips and eventually adding his pointer finger to Frank’s throaty, moaning encouragement. Gerard curled his fingers repeatedly, stretching him as he moved his other hand from his ass to wrap around his cock, jerking him.

He mouthed at his throat dutifully until Frank started whining, hands sliding from Gerard’s back to his chest and moving to his pants to work them open just enough to guide his dick out of his boxers. He grabbed the lube while Gerard did as he pleased with Frank, and slicked up his cock. “Fuck me,” Frank pleaded, but when Gerard didn’t make any movement to pull his fingers out, he frowned slightly. He gave Gerard’s member a squeeze on the upstroke, using his dry hand to wrap around Gerard’s throat, forcing his head back against the edge of the bed. “ _ Now _ ,” he demanded in a whisper, moving his fingertips to pinch his jaw in command.

Gerard groaned, grinning in arousal at the power in his voice. He stared into Frank’s intense eyes, pupils still huge, his own going out of focus as he acknowledged the acute feeling of Frank’s nails digging into his jaws. He assented, easing his fingers out of Frank’s hole and knocking his hand out of the way to guide his own dick against his entrance. 

Frank’s glaring expression melted into a pleased grin, his spine prickling as Gerard used his thumb to press the head of his cock past his rim. His eyes fluttered and he let go of Gerard’s face, returning both arms around his shoulders.

Gerard let Frank slowly ease down onto his slick erection, moving both hands to his hips and watching Frank’s face contort in pleasure. When he felt him relax completely around his aching member, Gerard impishly squeezed Frank’s hips in a split second of forewarning before bucking his hips upwards. Frank gasped and they both groaned deeply, grinding together as Frank adjusted to Gerard’s entire length. 

Frank slumped forward, burying his face in the crook of Gerard’s neck and gripping at his back and the foot of the bed. He rocked his hips timidly and breathed shallowly until he was steady, finally murmuring into Gerard’s skin, “Okay.” He pressed his lips to his neck, mouthing openly and sliding his tongue over his skin. 

Gerard grunted in appreciation, pushing his nose into Frank’s hair as he started slowly fucking up into Frank. They both breathed raggedly as Gerard gained momentum, letting Frank cling to him as he worked his hips earnestly. Gerard’s eyes slid into focus as he peered over the top of Frank’s head, realizing what he was seeing. Up against the wall across from the foot of the bed, there was a body length mirror propped up for easy reference. Gerard’s eyes rolled back slightly and he groaned inhumanly, using his nose to nudge Frank’s cheek in the direction of the mirror. He had been so hyperfocused on finally laying Frank, he’d noticed nothing else about his environment before this moment.

Frank lifted his head at Gerard’s wordless insistence, peering to his right. His breath hitched and he dug his nails into Gerard’s skin in renewed avidity at the sight. It was his own room, but even he’d forgotten about the mirror until he was watching himself and Gerard fucking on the floor.

The sun was setting and rays of orange light glistened through the window in sheets, illuminating all of Frank’s tattoos in a warm glow. Frank was stark naked and pale in Gerard’s lap, chest bare but black jeans still hitched up around his ass. They were both skinny, but Gerard was  _ thin,  _ he was practically all bones. Being pressed up against him, Frank could easily feel the sharpness of his collar as proof. Everything about the way Gerard was tethered to him felt  _ good _ , bones and all, and his mind was quickly distracted from his thin stature to the way he was thrusting his hips relentlessly. Both of their eyes wandered, drinking in their bodies in motion until their stare locked within the mirror. Frank bit his lip and Gerard breathed hard, the heat of this moment surpassing all previous ones. 

They both moaned at the sight of themselves, and Frank started giving a little, working his hips until he was bouncing in his lap, Frank’s knees scuffing against the abrasive rug. “Jesus  _ H,” _ Gerard cursed as his gaze went to their hips, moving in perfect synchronicity. His hands slid from Frank’s sides up his back, hooking around his shoulders. Gerard could feel every single movement, every bead of sweat, every breath they drew. Everything about the situation was overwhelming, overstimulating, beyond arousing, and yet he felt like he could fuck Frank forever. 

Their hips worked in dedication until Frank overshot his movement and lifted too high, Gerard’s dick slipping out. He gasped a little at the feeling and broke eye contact with the mirror, moving to guide Gerard’s cock back in place.

Gerard stopped him, pushing his hand away and smirking. Frank only looked at him with confusion for a split second before he was laughing. Gerard hooked a hand under his thigh, changing the position in one swift motion so that Frank was on his back, the top of his head pointed towards the mirror. Gerard took the time to kick off both his pants and boxers while Frank lazily stroked himself and caught his breath. Finally, Gerard resituated himself between Frank’s bent legs, using one hand to grip his left knee and the other to guide his erection, reentering easily and eliciting moans from them both. 

Frank bit his lip and reached up to pull him down into a kiss as they regained pace. One of Gerard’s hands splayed on Frank’s stomach and the other gripped his thigh. Frank tried desperately to keep his lips locked with Gerard’s, but he had to break away and let his head fall back with a gasp, dragging his fingers over his back. “ _ Fuck _ , that’s it,” Frank whined when Gerard struck his prostate, his back arching off the ground and head tilting back further. He opened his eyes to gaze into the mirror again, getting an upside down glimpse of them. His hickied throat was exposed and the red marks on Gerard’s back were glowing. He peered at the long dark hair hanging in Gerard’s intense and focused face and the gorgeous way he was thrusting to make Frank arch so flexibibly. He used the mirror to relocate the lube, fumbling a little because his hands were so shaky from the way Gerard was relentlessly working. 

Frank eased his head down to rest against the rug and Gerard watched curiously as he squirted some lube onto his fingers. He held both of Frank’s thighs for leverage, leaning down to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to his chest. He felt Frank slide a hand down his back and grab a palmful of his ass before a cool, slick digit was pressing against his hole. Gerard’s eyes widened a little and he groaned, lifting his head from Frank’s chest to look at him in inquiry. His lips were parted, but he wasn’t protesting. Frank just smirked darkly, applying pressure and easing a finger into his hole even as Gerard continued to fuck him. Gerard lost track of his rhythm, his hips moving erratically as Frank worked him open with one finger, then two. Gerard moaned wildly, never having experienced something like this before, and so fucking turned on by it. He could feel the heat building in the pit of his stomach, unsure of how much longer he could last. Frank recognized the look on Gerard’s face, and as much as he wanted Gerard to keep railing him, he eased out his fingers and pushed firmly on his chest. Gerard took the hint and slowed his hips against his better judgement before he pulled out, grunting and sitting back on his haunches to catch his breath. 

Frank grinned up at him, his face glistening with a sheen of sweat. He squeezed some more lube into his hand, stroking his cock and sliding his free hand over his own chest and stomach. Frank linked their gaze and playfully hooked one of his ankles over Gerard’s thigh, sliding his foot back and forth along his leg. He bit his lip and the larger panted audibly in the silence, eyes boring into his own as Frank masturbated to the sight of him. Gerard waited patiently, well trained. Finally, Frank smirked, pleased, and moved to push himself into a sitting position. He leaned forward and kissed Gerard momentarily before finally breaking the intense silence, “Get on your hands and knees in front of the mirror.” He said it with confidence, leaving no room for negotiation. 

Gerard bit his lip and grinned a little, letting out a tiny noise of exasperation but submitting nonetheless. He traded spots with Frank, settling on his elbows, forearms, and knees with his ass high in the air. Gerard gazed in the mirror at the curved, clawed expanse of his back and rocked his hips back impatiently, locating Frank’s distracted face. He was fucking around with one of the forgotten pieces of clothing, but from the angle he was at, Gerard couldn’t see what could possibly be more interesting than his smooth ass. 

He wasn’t left wondering for long; Frank turned back to the mirror, meeting Gerard’s eyes and smirking devilishly as he held up the leather belt he had wrangled from his pants. He laid it across Gerard’s upper back where it rested against his shoulder blades. Gerard’s breath staggered and he sucked in his lips in anticipation, his fingers subconsciously digging into the fibres of the rug. Frank was driving him up the fucking wall, arousing him beyond comprehension. 

Frank leered smugly, finally paying proper attention and sliding both hands over Gerard’s ass, spreading it for a satisfactory view before pressing the head of his member against his hole. He bit his lip and grunted, gradually easing in and moving his hands to Gerard’s hips.

Gerard whined, relaxing his muscles and pressing his ass back needily. It had been so long since Frank had fucked him. Before the Jimmy Eat World tour when Gerard had been acting self righteous and Frank avoiding him, nine times out of ten it was Gerard who crawled into Frank’s bed, and it was only in the wee hours of the morning that he wouldn’t be kicked right back out. He deduced that it had been at  _ least _ a couple of months, and it was only now that Gerard was adapting to Frank’s length that he realized just how badly he’d missed his presence. He rocked his hips, grinding back though he was already flush with Frank’s pelvis. “ _ Please _ ,” Gerard yearned, looking at Frank in the mirror with acute desire. He could not wait another fucking second.

Frank held Gerard still as he withdrew slightly only to thrust back in, unhalting from there. He gripped Gerard’s hips posessively, leaving half moons from his nails intended into his skin. He established the pace based off of the way Gerard’s face contorted in the mirror, eyes squeezed shut and cheek pressed against the rug. Frank grunted every so often, his lips parted from how god damn good Gerard felt. Finally, he leaned forward, keeping the rhythm, and retrieved the belt with a sadistic smirk. 

Gerard’s eyes flew open at the loss of the cool leather across his torn-up back and he watched Frank with a sultry gaze, his eyebrows knitted in gratification. Frank slid his hand from Gerard’s hip to the small of his back, digging in the heel as he held both ends of the belt in his other hand. Gerard watched in the mirror as Frank pulled back his arm, still fucking steadily, and brought the belt down hard across his ass. Gerard moaned openly; he could feel the burn from the leather, and he could watch in real time as a dark red welt raised across the horizon of his flesh. The high from the ecstasy was starting to wear off, and Gerard could no longer note every single little movement, but the effects were still lingering enough to make the lashing feel like a blessing. He reached out with one hand, gripping the rug’s short material in expectancy and watching as Frank raised the belt and brought it down fluidly twice more. Frank slipped his hand from the small of Gerard’s back to his ribcage, holding his side and groaning at the gorgeous sight of him, both right before his eyes and in their reflection. Gerard cried out as the belt came down, digging his nails into the carpet and dragging himself forward towards the mirror and away from Frank -- but his face was a pool of nirvana. “ _ Harder _ ,” Gerard moaned, breathing raggedly. 

Frank followed Gerard’s movements toward the mirror without difficulty, only pausing to withdraw a little extra for the momentum to thrust back in, fucking him harder, his eagerness renewed. He spanked Gerard with the belt thrice more, the newest welts turning a dark purple. They both groaned, and as Gerard clawed at the rug, hauling himself even closer to the mirror, Frank followed suit. He tossed aside the belt and gently smoothed his hands over Gerard’s bruised ass, causing him to hiss and push his searing skin back into Frank’s cool touch. Frank pressed his thumbs into untouched areas of his skin, spreading his cheeks for the view of his slick cock fucking Gerard’s hole. He smirked and raised his eyes to the mirror to catch Gerard drinking in the same vision. “Fucking gorgeous,” Frank breathed, releasing his ass. He leaned forward, plastered to Gerard’s back, and reached to knock his knees out from underneath him.

Gerard gasped, caught off guard as he landed flat on his stomach. Frank straddled his thighs, holding his legs shut with his own knees, and pushed his hand roughly in between his shoulder blades. Gerard’s eyes rolled back, his stomach jumping with euphoria as Frank fucked harder and deeper at this angle. His eyelids fluttered shut, cheek pushed against the floor and chafing against the rug. He reveled in the notion that he was sure to limp away from this with carpet burn. 

Frank grunted in slight displeasure; he was putting on an outstanding display for Gerard and he  _ wasn’t even watching _ . Frank pushed harder against Gerard’s back, knotting his other hand at the base of his lengthy hair and yanking on it hard. He pulled Gerard’s head back with great force, his throat stretched and bare. “Open your fucking eyes,” Frank demanded in a hiss.

Gerard gasped and obliged faster than he’d ever done anything in his life. He moaned throatily at the sight of his body contorted in ways he didn’t know was possible. His back was curved towards the ground so gracefully, hair haphazardly pulled into a bunch by Frank’s hand. His ass was taut, legs still entrapped between Frank’s knees, and his throat so vulnerable and exposed. Gerard cried out animalistically as Frank thrusted his hips, fucking as deep as possible and hitting his prostate repeatedly. Gerard tore at the carpet, attempting desperately to drag himself closer to the mirror, the overstimulation nearly unbearable, but Frank had him so effectively pinned against the floor, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Frank and Gerard both knew that his plight was a waste, and they locked eyes in their reflection again as Frank’s hand moved from Gerard’s hair to his pale throat. Frank squeezed the sides of his neck, using his throat for leverage and choking him as he pounded his prostate.

They held each other’s stare as Gerard continued to pointlessly pull at the rug, absolutely fucking unhinged. “Can I cum?” Gerard asked in a strangled voice. He was trying desperately to please Frank, keeping his eyes open and watchful despite how badly he wanted to close them and give into paradise. 

“ _ No _ ,” Frank snapped, squeezing his throat and twisting the heel of his hand into Gerard’s back. He groaned deeply and Gerard whimpered, Frank’s hips relentless. 

“ _ Please _ ,” Gerard whined, begging, “ _ Please _ , let me cum.”

Frank released Gerard’s throat and pushed his face into the carpet but not so that Gerard couldn’t continue watching himself. “You’ll cum when I fuckin’ say so,” Frank growled, fingertips digging into his cheek, and Gerard moaned in assent. They both breathed raggedly, grunting breathily as they watched each other, and finally Frank let go of Gerard’s face, his hand flying to his hip. “ _ Now _ ,” he allowed, his own climax building rapidly. 

Gerard gasped as Frank fucked into him earnestly a few more times, shuddering and finally letting himself come undone, eyes rolling in his skull as he released between his stomach and the carpet. He squirmed underneath Frank but was still held in place, legs shaking as his ass rocked backwards involuntarily. He moaned low in his throat, seeing stars as rolling pleasure shocked through his nervous system. 

Frank groaned at the sight of Gerard losing himself, and he was finishing not long after. The feeling of Gerard clenching around him sent Frank well over the edge, hips jerking uncontrollably as he filled him. He dug his nails so hard into Gerard’s hips that he broke skin in a couple of areas. “ _ Fuck _ ,” he cursed, leaning over Gerard and pressing up against his back while his hips slowed. He pressed a kiss behind Gerard’s ear, thrusting a couple more times to his tiny moans before straightening up to ease out. 

Gerard lay there on the floor, breathing hard and quivering. He folded his arms and rested his cheek on top of them as a makeshift pillow, unable to even consider moving in his current state. He moaned brokenly at Frank’s withdrawal and could feel cum dripping between his bruised thighs. He smiled dazedly and watched the mirrored Frank move to grab some pillows and a blanket from the bed. He turned his head to look at Frank when he’d returned, blinking contentedly. “Hi,” he whispered, chuckling airily. 

“Hey,” Frank smiled endearingly, gently moving to cradle Gerard’s head in his hand as he slid a pillow beneath his cheek. Frank snuggled down beside him, covering them with the blanket and making himself comfortable with a pillow of his own. He gently grazed his fingertips over Gerard’s vast expanse of skin, pressing tiny kisses all over his face and throat. “You okay? Was that too much?” he whispered. Now that they were coming down from their erotic intoxication, Frank was worried he’d crossed a line. 

Gerard just rolled his eyes and caught Frank in a kiss, pecking his lips many times. “Are you kidding me? You made me see God,” Gerard said seriously, but he couldn’t help but chortle when Frank broke into laughter at the comment. He settled into Frank, all smiley and well cared for. “We’re  _ engaged,”  _ he said out of the blue, reminding them both, “Fuck, I love you.” 

Frank grinned at Gerard, kissing him again. “ _ Engaged _ ,” he repeated, “I love  _ you _ .” 

The two laid curled up on the floor together for a while, but when all of the extra serotonin had drained, they were reminded of their dwindling high. It was only a matter of time before Gerard lifted his head, looking around. “Hey, where’s the snuff vial?” he inquired. Time for a re-up. 

*

Gerard and Frank had been jumping each other well into the night and nearly passed out after their grand bedroom escapade, but Snow White held them back from unconsciousness. The sun rose, stopped by no one, and Gerard and Frank somewhat deliriously entered the third day of their bender without a single stitch of sleep. 

They sat curled up together on the couch, wired, listening to the calm of the early morning, but when the sun was well on it’s way up the horizon, Gerard broke the silence with an idea and a grin. “Frankie, it’s almost your birthday,” he said excitedly, “Let’s go celebrate.” 

Frank scoffed with a laugh, “It’s not for another week, it’s too early.” 

“It’s never too early for Ieroween,” Gerard grinned, stealing a kiss before bounding off of the couch and holding out a hand, “Let’s make some coffee and at least go for a walk and see where our feet bring us.”

Frank laughed and rolled his eyes, accepting Gerard’s hand. “Okay, okay,” he assented. “Take me on an adventure.” 

*

“Frank? Gee?” The Way brother had an armful of grocery bags and had almost walked by without noticing, preoccupied with thoughts and concerns about, well,  _ them _ . 

Frank and Gerard also missed Mikey, too infatuated with each other to be checking their surroundings. They both whipped around at the sound of their names, breaking into foolish grins. “ _ Mikey _ !” Gerard exclaimed, pushing his thick, black, square sunglasses up onto his head so that they held the hair out of his face. “How’s it?”

“Fine,” Mikey shrugged, cocking his head to the side a little to look at them in questioning, “How… how are you…?” Gerard was  _ obviously _ high, but something about Frank didn’t seem quite right either.

“Just  _ lovely _ ,” Frank answered without a hint of sarcasm in his voice. 

Maybe it was his unusual language, or more likely the look in his eyes, but either way, comprehension dawned on Mikey’s face. “Are you  _ high _ ?” he asked Frank, frowning. 

“Whoa, okay,” Frank laughed at the accusation and waved a hand, brushing him off. “Are  _ you _ ?” he countered.

Mikey’s frown deepened and he stepped closer, gripping Frank’s wrist. “It’s not a joke, Frankie. What the hell happened? I just saw you  _ two days _ ago. You were supposed to be keeping Gerard  _ safe _ ,” the longer Mikey spoke, the more tense his voice became, full of worry and blame. How could this ever have happened? Frank absolutely despised coke to begin with, so for him to be high on it was unbelievable. 

Frank frowned, shaking Mikey off of his wrist. “Aw, come on, don’t be a buzzkill,” he chided, sounding more like Gerard than himself in that moment, “We’re  _ celebrating _ .”

“What could you  _ possibly _ be celebrating?” Mikey snapped, taking a step back in disgust. Gerard was literally prison bound and the band was receiving endless bad press because of his stunt with Bert, their label was even considering dropping them; really, they were at an all time low. 

“You must not have heard, yet. I’m sure it’ll be making its way around the internet soon enough,” Gerard smirked, not realizing just how nasty it was that he was implying his own brother should be getting his updates on them from the web. 

“We’re fucking  _ engaged _ !” Frank announced shrilly, holding out his left hand to display the thrifted ring. 

Mikey did a triple take, furrowing his brows. Of all the answers he was expecting, that one wasn’t even on the roster. “ _ What _ ?” Mikey shook his head, unable to make sense of it, “When did you- It’s not even  _ legal _ ,” he said doubtfully, folding his arms across his chest in discomfort. He couldn’t believe his brother and best friend had been running around for the past couple of days, high off their asses, making wedding proposals, and God only knew what else. They were insufferable. 

Gerard scowled, mimicking Mikey’s body language, “Does that fucking  _ matter _ ? It doesn’t have to be official for it to count.” He possessively wrapped an arm around Frank’s shoulders with mistrust for his brother, “Can you not be fucking happy for me for once in our goddamn lives?” Everything that had been said between them in the car on the drive home from New York meant nothing to Gerard at this moment, it was out the window. 

Mikey huffed, exasperated, “I  _ would be _ , it’s just- Gerard, do you have  _ any _ idea what you’ve put us all through?  _ Frank _ , how could you fucking enable this?” He knew that trying to rationalize with two people high on blow was a pointless effort, but he just couldn’t let it go. The state of the two of them honestly hurt to look at. They clearly hadn’t slept since New York; even then Gerard hadn’t been sleeping much due to withdrawal, and Frank had been awake most nights from worry. They looked gaunt, crazed,  _ reckless _ . It scared Mikey.

Frank was at a loss for words, suddenly second-guessing every decision he’d made in the past three days. Did he even really  _ want _ to marry Gerard, or was that just the drugs talking? Everything Mikey was saying was scrambling his brain so badly, making him unsure of what was true and what was fake. He was becoming visibly upset and he cast his eyes downward in deep guilt.

“Don’t fucking listen to him, Frank, he’s trying to  _ sabotage _ us,” Gerard spat savagely, squeezing him closer and glaring at Mikey. Everything his brother had said was rational, but he just couldn’t see it that way, taking full offense. Gerard mustered everything in him to find words that would cut him deep, “How  _ dare _ you talk to him like that, and to act like this is all  _ my _ fault? Like I haven’t seen those little pills you love so much lying around, you fucking hypocrite.” Mikey clearly wasn’t as subtle at hiding his perkies as Frank was -- not that Frank was any better in this moment -- but Gerard had always assumed that it was solely Mikey who was in love with the scripts. “Fuck you. You’re  _ dead to me _ ,” Gerard growled. 

“ _ Gee _ ,” Frank started, his eyes wide, “Don’t say that, you  _ don’t _ mean that.” 

“Come on Frankie, we’re  _ done _ here,” Gerard snapped, ignoring him. He took one final look at Mikey and began steering Frank in the original direction they were headed, away from his brother.

Mikey’s face fell, his heart nearly shattering at Gerard’s words. He couldn’t understand how the conversation had escalated so quickly. Gerard’s gaslighting, the use of Mikey’s addiction as a deflection, and then the final nail in the coffin that was their brotherhood. Pushing Gerard further from his grasp was the last thing he wanted, but there was no way he could’ve addressed this without some form of confrontation. He stared after his brother, filled with regret. “Gerard! G!  _ Gee _ !” Mikey hollered after him, tears fogging up his glasses, but his feet were glued to the spot, “Don’t you fucking walk away from me! You aren’t the only one with a say in this, I’m your goddamn  _ brother _ ! I only say this shit because I fucking love you, man!” 

Frank looked back at Mikey apologetically, his face crumpled, but Gerard kept his stubborn eyes straight ahead. “ _ Don’t _ indulge him, Frank,” he said coldly, and Frank faced forward sheepishly. “ _ Fuck _ ,” Gerard swore, kicking the rocks in his general vicinity. Mikey had productively crushed the bliss they had been harbouring and he was beyond bitter, “I need a fuckin’ bump.”

*

Gerard and Frank eventually ended up in Belleville Park, sitting in a secluded area under a clump of massive trees as the sun went down. They’d walked aimlessly for a long time, Gerard having coddled Frank back into the right state of mind. Mikey had planted a seed of doubt, making him wonder if they should call off the bender and sober up. It was Gerard who patiently coaxed him back onto the carefree path with his words, kisses, and a lot of coke. 

They sat under the dwindling canopy of leaves and Gerard frowned slightly as he quickly and subtly emptied the last pearl into the snuff vial. “Shit,” he said in realization, “We’re getting low again.” They’d done, like, a  _ lot _ of blow in the past three days. He’d lost track, but now knowing they were running out of their second eight ball, Gerard deduced that between the two of them, they had done nearly six grams since they’d gotten back to Jersey. He tried to ignore his tired, vibrating hands as he screwed the lid back onto the jar. He stuffed it in his pocket before wrapping an arm around Frank’s shoulders.

“We can just pick up more tomorrow,” Frank shrugged. He snuggled down in Gerard’s embrace, leaning his head on his shoulder, “That’ll get us through the night, right?” He was passive, any dark reflections Mikey had uncovered in his mind were temporarily hidden by a blanket of snow. Gerard had reassured him more than enough over the past couple of hours. Plus, they had stopped in a gas station restroom to do rails until they were dizzy; after that, it was easy to put Mikey out of his mind. In the glow of the purple sunset, Frank only wanted to think about Gerard, and the magic chemical that made him forget about all of the horrible things brewing in their near future. 

“It should,” Gerard agreed, resting his temple on top of Frank’s head. He gazed out at the oranges, reds, browns, and yellows in the trees and grass. A good portion of the leaves had fallen, preparing for winter dormancy. Gerard smiled softly and plucked a deep red leaf off of Frank’s knee as it landed, crumpling it in his free hand. “So, what do you want to do for your birthday?” he asked thoughtfully, absentmindedly smoothing his fingertips in circles over Frank’s upper arm. 

“Oh, I haven’t given it much thought,” Frank chuckled a little, “No idea.” He endearingly rubbed Gerard’s thigh, comfortable. “Do you remember the first year we celebrated together?” he lifted his head to look at Gerard, fond of the memory.

Gerard raised his head too, grinning at Frank in nostalgia. “I was so excited when I found out your birthday was on halloween,” he recalled, “I  _ still _ think it’s the coolest thing ever.” He reached up to brush some hair out of Frank’s face, setting his hand on the back of his neck.

Frank smiled dotingly, moving to push Gerard’s sunglasses up off his face as the purple and pink rays of sun began to fade below the horizon. “We had a lot of fun back then,” he commented, drinking in Gerard’s nearly-healed face and involuntarily noting how different he looked compared to two years ago. It felt like multiple lifetimes had passed since then.

“Still do,” Gerard countered, searching Frank’s glassy eyes, “We have a  _ wedding _ to plan. It’s gonna be the party of the century.” Even just thinking about marrying Frank was making his heart beat abnormally fast. He was so in love. 

“You’re gonna be my  _ husband _ ,” Frank breathed, feeling out the word in his mouth. He decided that he couldn’t wait to use the term all the time. “I love you so fuckin’ much,” he murmured. 

“ _ God _ , I love you, too,” Gerard said sincerely, closing the small amount of space between them and kissing Frank for quite some time. They moved gently, lovingly, like they were the only two to ever exist with all of the time in the universe. Gerard gingerly rubbed his thumb against the side of Frank’s neck, breathing shallowly between kisses. He leaned into Frank’s touch while he aimlessly kneaded his fingertips into Gerard’s chest, pressed close. The kiss finally broke as the last rays of sun disappeared, and Gerard nuzzled Frank’s nose with his own, smiley. “ _ Husbands _ ,” Gerard whispered thoughtfully, dropping his hand from Frank’s neck to his own lap and leaning back against the massive tree trunk. He squeezed Frank’s shoulder, still keeping him tucked closely under his arm. 

“I love the sound of it,” Frank swooned, sitting back and looking out at the rest of the park with Gerard. “I want to get married in this weather,” he said decidedly after a while, “in the fall.” 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Gerard agreed, latching onto the idea, “But I don’t want to wait until next year.” His voice was heavy with implication; he wanted to marry Frank  _ before _ he was carted off to jail. 

Frank bit his lip, looking over at Gerard again in understanding, “Me neither.” He was quiet for a moment before his eyes lit up, “Let’s fuckin’ get married next week, after my birthday. If Bob or Ray won’t do the vows, Jamia will.” He was getting excited at just the thought of it; even if it couldn’t be official, the ceremony would be enough to hold him over between prison visits. Frank kept talking, the urge to start planning overcoming him, “We can invite some of your friends, too, I bet they’d-” Gerard turned his head to catch Frank in another kiss, cutting him off. They both laughed a little, savouring the intimacy before Frank pulled back with a raised eyebrow at Gerard’s lovestruck expression, “What?” 

Gerard shook his head, unable to wipe the smile from his face. Just being with Frank, being able to gaze at his pretty features while he worked himself up was all he could ever ask for. “Nothing, just love you,” he answered truthfully, “We can start  _ officially _ planning tomorrow, but… Let’s get married next week.” 

Frank broke into a grand smile, actually giggling a little in glee, “We’re gonna be fuckin’ married, Gee.” 

“You’re gonna be _my_ _husband_ ,” even between the two of them saying it incessantly, Gerard still couldn’t repeat it enough; it was a wonderful spectacle to him. They both leaned back again, snuggled together peacefully, revelling in the moment as comfortable silence settled between them. 

For a while, Frank watched leaves drop from tree boughs only to be swept away in the wind. Gerard leaned against Frank, tranquil. Storm clouds were starting to roll in, and tiny droplets landed on them every now and then, cooling them off in a nice, light drizzle. Once in a while, a pair of squirrels would dart up and down a tree, fighting for food. Frank watched them with great interest, losing track of how much time had passed. He gasped a little when one of the rodents finally shook the other off, sending it plummeting to the ground to go look for another abode with a wounded pride. “Holy shit, did you see that?” he asked with a hint of laughter. 

Gerard didn’t respond. 

“G, you finally sleeping, or what?” Frank teased, leaning to the side to get a better look at him, but Gerard slumped heavily forward, folding over himself with the loss of support. Frank gasped, scrambling to his knees, his voice panicking, “Gee? What-  _ Gerard _ ?” he kneeled in front of his fiancé, pushing Gerard until he was lying on his back. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” Frank whispered at first, but his voice rose until he was screaming the word repeatedly at the top of his lungs. 

Gerard’s eyes were wide open, but they were staring at nothing. His expression was soft, like he had never been happier in his life, like he had reached the end game and could finally throw in the towel. With a massive crack of thunder, the sky opened up and began to spill tears of solidarity and grief in deluge. Uncaring of the weather, Frank put an ear to his chest, his breath hitching in true panic when he couldn’t make out any signs of life. He wanted to believe that it was the rain drowning out the sound of Gerard's breathing, but the lack of rise and fall of his chest couldn’t lie. He knotted both hands in his shirt, pulling Gerard’s body towards him, howling in hysteria, “You can’t fucking die on me, we’re getting married next week! We’re getting married next week!  _ Gerard _ !” Tears were excessively splashing from Frank’s face to his body, mixed with the rain, and he scrambled to think of what he should be doing, how he could possibly bring his lover back from an overdose.

Frank shook his head, trying to collect his thoughts. He settled Gerard’s body back to the ground and started pumping at his chest. “Please, please, please, please, please,” he cried, using his begging in place of counting. When he had compressed Gerard’s chest and pleaded thirty times, he plugged Gerard’s nose and issued two full breaths into his mouth. They were both drenched to the bone, layers of clothing making no difference, and the leaves falling from the storm were getting caught in Frank’s hair and sticking to his skin and jacket. Frank sat back on his haunches to see if there was any change at all, but Gerard continued to lay still. “ _ Fuck _ !” Frank wailed, crying harder as he performed another round of CPR. “You have to come back to me, Gee, I can’t fucking live without you, not after all of the promises we made,” the words tore from Frank’s throat as he bawled, doing everything in his power to bring him back to life, but it was useless. Gerard Way, the love of his life, was dead. 

Frank wasn’t sure exactly when he’d stopped performing CPR, but he had in time devolved into protectively cradling Gerard’s body from the weather, sobbing into his chest as he rocked back and forth, repeating, “I love you, how could you do this to me?” at varying volumes of grief. His whispers turned into shrieks and reverted back in an instant; he had no concept of anything around him, time stood still. He wasn’t ready to make a call, to give Gerard up for the rest of forever, to admit that the thing that had killed him had been the bender that he, Frank, had indulged in.

His screeching had turned into a full blown panic attack and his howls were strangled as he gasped for breath. His heart was being twisted so violently from his chest that his sobbing had become excruciatingly silent, trapped inside his ribcage. Gerard was cooling rapidly in the rain, but Frank held his body until he himself was quaking in the downpour, chilled to the core and shivering aggressively. 

Though it was all he wanted, Frank knew he couldn’t possibly stay in the park until he died alongside his love. Still crying earnestly, he finally forced himself to retrieve his phone from his pocket, fumbling wildly. He subconsciously clicked on Mikey’s contact instead of dialing 911, ready for help, but not to have Gerard taken from him. He was glad to be hidden in the treed-in sanctuary, and even more thankful for the storm’s warding off leisurely passerbys. Frank laid his head on Gerard’s chest, repeatedly brushing his fingers through his dripping hair as the line rang. He couldn’t stop staring at Gerard’s peaceful face, tracing his brow bone, hating Gerard for deciding that this was the right moment to leave their realm. 

“Hello?” Mikey answered on the second last ring, “Sorry, I was-”

At the sound of Mikey’s voice, Frank broke into renewed sobbing. “Please come get me,” he cried, “Please, I’m at Belleville Park.”

“Frank, what happened?” Mikey said, his voice immediately dropping in concern, “I’m coming  _ now _ , just hold on.” 

“Hurry, please,” Frank spoke as if the life was actively being torn from him by an invisible hand. He ended the call without answering the question, tossing his phone aside to drown in the torrent. If Gerard was never going to send him another text, then he didn’t care to hear from anyone else either. He buried his face in Gerard’s sopping chest, gripping at his jacket and bawling, still unable to fully catch his breath. “You can’t leave me,” he repeated incoherently, his voice growing in hysteria again. He felt like he’d lost a part of himself, a shard of his soul. His ears were ringing, and he was unhearing if someone were to call his name, deafened by agony. He felt like having every single bone in his body broken by the hands of his enemies ten thousand times over would be complete nirvana in comparison to the anguish he was feeling in this moment. He hoped to God that Mikey found them soon, because the urge to locate the snuff jar, consume the entire remaining gram, and attempt to follow in Gerard’s suit was growing rapidly. 

*

Mikey was sitting in Ray’s car, his forehead pressed to the passenger window in stress. Water was rolling down the glass in sheets, and Mikey could only imagine the kind of state he would find Frank in in this weather. “Dude, you  _ have _ to drive faster,” he urged. He was terrified of what they were going to discover, but he knew in his gut that they needed to be there, like, fifteen minutes ago. No matter how pissed his brother would be that Frank had called him, when summoned, he’d show face. Mikey was shaken; he’d never heard the guitarist in such a state before. He knew he had to get to the park faster than his feet or bicycle could carry him, especially in the rain, so he’d immediately phoned Ray when Frank had dropped his call. He was thankful for the ride, and also the company, because he wasn’t sure if this was something he was going to be able to deal with alone.

“We won’t be any use to them if we get pulled over,” Ray reminded Mikey patiently, stoic. He was worried too, but he wasn’t showing it outwardly. “We’re almost there,” he promised. 

“Fuck, man,” Mikey cursed under his breath, digging all of his nails into his bouncing knees with great impatience. He appreciated that Ray at least wasn’t asking questions, because he couldn’t answer any of them even if he was in the mindset to. Ray was good like that, always hopping in the car and just driving without requiring explanation, not that it always ended well. 

The short drive to the park felt like it took at least an hour, and Mikey was forcing the lock on the car door open and bolting out of the vehicle before Ray had even come to a complete stop. “ _ Dude _ !” Ray shouted after him, parking and shutting off the engine. He hurried out of the car, running to catch up with Mikey. He frowned deeply as he slowed to walk briskly beside him, making out an unpleasant and shrill…  _ howling…? _ in the distance; it didn’t sound like any animal he’d ever heard, but it wasn’t quite human either. The sound was faint between the thunder and relentless rain, but it was definitely there. “What  _ is _ that?” he asked, but a wary look dawned on Mikey’s face at the comment and the scrawnier of the Way siblings bolted ahead again without reply. “Come  _ on _ , man!” Ray shouted over the rain, but he sprinted forward, grabbing his arm when he’d closed the gap once more, “ _ Seriously _ , what the  _ fuck _ is going on? What are we  _ doing _ out here?”

“I don’t know, man, they’re high, they just  _ need _ us,” Mikey shook his head, his eyes watchful as he searched the ground and trees alike. He was envisioning having to find Gerard with bones protruding from his thigh as a result of thinking he was God again and attempting to climb one of the slick trees in the storm. The deeper they walked into the park, the louder the howling became, and the back of Mikey’s neck prickled in acute recognition. “ _ Frank _ ,” he muttered under his breath, “Where the hell  _ are _ you?” He was now scared of finding something worse than a broken leg. He could decipher few of the words Frank was shouting, but none of them sounded like calls for help or identification; every noise sounded like it was dripping in sorrow.

Ray was trying to make sense of it all with what little information he was basing the situation off of, and it was getting more confusing by the second. “Wait,  _ they _ ? Frank is doing blow?” he could hardly believe it. The banshee was growing close, there was no way they’d miss the source of the ear splitting cries.

“Yeah,” Mikey confirmed desolately, opening his mouth to give a little more context about their earlier run-in, but his face went icy, eyes widening, “Holy fuck.” He had finally spotted Frank and Gerard beyond the curtains of rain and tree branches.

Ray followed Mikey’s gaze, and his heart skipped several beats. It  _ couldn’t _ be; he didn’t think this day would ever actually come, let alone so soon. He’d always thought there would be time for Gerard to get sober, even if it was the hard way, in prison. Neither of them could have prepared for the fact that Gerard was physically unable to be angry about their presence.

Frank was mourning vocally again now that the breath had returned to his lungs. All pedestrians had retreated home because of the torrential downpour, but Frank was still there, wailing into Gerard’s stiff chest, begging, “Please come back, please, _please_ _Gee_ , please come back.” He hadn’t even noticed that Mikey and Ray had shown up, blinded by pain. As Ray stepped closer, Frank caught them in his peripheral vision and flinched, raising his head. His face was red and raw with tears, his expression one of a man who had nothing left to live for. “Mikey, I’m _sorry_ ,” Frank’s voice broke, guilt-stricken, “I couldn’t save him.”

Mikey was frozen to the spot, eyes wide as he stared at Frank cradling his dead brother. He was horrified, but he couldn’t look away from Gerard’s still-open eyes. Why the hell hadn’t Frank closed them? The sight of Gerard’s frigid, lifeless body and Frank’s small, shuddering stature was too much. He felt like the world was crashing down around him. He had  _ just _ seen them not even three hours ago, how could this have happened in such a short span of time? What were they doing before Gerard had died? What had they been talking about? The only thing he could hear was his heart rapidly pumping blood to his ears, and the lash of Gerard’s final words to him, “Fuck you. You’re dead to me.” He couldn’t unhear it, tortured by the fact that he would never get the chance to reconcile with his older sibling. How could he ever forgive himself? If Frank and Gerard didn’t go on a bender, Gerard wouldn’t be dead, but they wouldn’t have gone on a bender if Frank hadn’t given up, and maybe Frank wouldn’t have given up if Mikey had stayed with him in New York, and maybe he’d have been around if he hadn’t been sitting at home self medicating on perkies. Gerard wouldn’t even have been in jail if Frank and Mikey weren’t doped up the night of the beating, if they had just stopped him sooner. And… they wouldn’t even have percocets at all if it weren’t for Mikey in the first place. Jesus, how far back did it really go? Surely that was only the tip of the iceberg, but his mind was racing alongside the butterfly effect. The coke trail clearly pointed to Bert, but Mikey still couldn’t help but endlessly blame himself for not taking more action when this could have been prevented or even reversed during multiple points in their career. They hadn’t even held a group intervention for him. Had he even really  _ tried  _ to help Gerard? He couldn’t comprehend exactly where it was that things had taken a turn for the worse; was it before touring had even started, before the band had formed? Was this always destined to happen? Mikey was a perfectly immobile statue, hating himself, unable to piece two relevant thoughts together and unfit to respond to Frank. 

Ray looked hopelessly between his two friends, clenching his fists as he made the hardest decision of his life. He looked apologetically at Mikey, squeezing his shoulder. “Call 911,” he instructed, knowing he needed to be ordered what to do, “Tell them we’re at Belleville Park, and that it was an overdose.” He wanted to take more time to comfort Mikey, but Frank was more at risk even though the wound wasn’t quite as fresh. Painfully, he turned away and gingerly dropped to his knees beside Frank, only looking over his shoulder to make sure Mikey was doing as told. “Why didn’t you call an ambulance, Frankie?” he asked gently, taking one of Frank’s hands in both of his. 

Frank looked at Ray, his eyes huge and swollen. He was aimlessly gripping at Gerard’s shirt with his other hand, like he was feeling for a beating heart. “I wasn’t ready,” he answered brokenly, “It wouldn’t have made a difference. He’s  _ gone _ .” Lightening pierced through the sky, turning everything a brilliant white for a split second and only moments later, a massive crack of thunder shook the ground, as if solidifying Frank’s statement. As Frank started to lose his breath in a renewed panic attack, the rain assaulted them harder than before. 

Ray bit his lip, squeezing Frank’s hand. “Okay, sure,” he indulged, “So, talk to me. How did this happen, bud?” he was hoping he could coax some clarity from Frank. Even if it was weak, he needed an explanation for the managers, Gerard’s parents, everyone really, and he knew Frank was going to be the last to open up about it after tonight, if he ever did. 

Frank blinked slowly, hiccuping as he glanced over at Gerard, his face contorting in pain. To Ray’s bewilderment, once Frank started talking, he couldn’t stop, “I tried CPR… four rounds? F-five? He was long gone before I even started, already felt it… Too late, it was too late, Ray…” He was talking to the gentle giant, but his eyes were locked on Gerard, “He’s been gone longer than that, though, h-hasn’t he? Since… since Jimmy Urine? Or… the party with Bert…”

Mikey was a few feet away on the phone with the police, stuttering out information, but he lost focus on the call when Frank started relaying his exact grim thought process. God, the trail went back so far and in so many directions. Maybe it was more of a web. 

Still, Frank kept talking in between heaves of his chest, the effects of the powder in his own system keeping him strung out, forcing him to relive every last thing that had gone wrong, “He hasn’t been  _ alive  _ for a long time. Ray, I-I didn’t see it before, but I think this was him asking me to run to the end with him, go out having fun… He didn’t wanna go at it alone, he knew this was coming, he  _ wanted _ this,  _ didn’t he _ ? Am I fucking crazy?” Frank let go of Ray’s hands to clutch onto his shirt in urgency, but he didn’t give time for an answer, his spiralling uncontrollable, “He fucking w-wanted this… because he would’ve gone to jail,” Frank was comprehending everything on the spot, speaking out loud before the notions even truly solidified in his own mind, “He knew what he was doing… or even if he didn’t, maybe this was what was best for him,” Frank let go of his deathgrip on Ray’s shirt to clasp his hand over his mouth, regretting the intrusive thought immediately. He dropped his hand after a second, his face crumpling again, “We were  _ never _ gonna get m-married… he knew  _ that _ too, didn’t he?”

“Married?” Ray couldn’t help but interject. Frank’s blustering had steered into completely fresh territory, catching him off guard. He hadn’t heard anything about any engagement until this moment. Had it been recent, or a longtime secret?

Frank looked at him, his eyes sliding out of focus and then back in, shuddering as he gripped at Ray’s forearm with urgency and epiphany. His breath was irregular and his tears were still flowing earnestly, but he changed the subject abruptly, deaf to the interruption, “I don’t wanna be high anymore,” Frank cried, squeezing his eyes shut and finally letting go of both Gerard and Ray to hold his head in his hands, rocking back and forth on his knees, “I never wanna fuckin’ do coke again. What have I done, Ray, what have I  _ done _ ? How is he fucking  _ dead _ ? How am I  _ not _ ? How the fuck did I not OD? He has a tolerance, I  _ don’t _ !” Frank slumped forward into Ray who embraced him without hesitation. He hid his tormented face in his chest, glad for some recluse, but his words kept spilling hard as the rain, “We did so much fucking blow… how am I not dead? Why couldn’t it have been me? I can’t fucking do this without him, why couldn’t it have been  _ me _ ?” As Ray rubbed his back, Frank dissolved into incoherency, his words petering out in woeful surrender. 

“Oh, nugget,” Ray said softly, hugging Frank tightly and gently smoothing back his sodden hair, “Don’t say that. You have so much to live for.” 

For what should’ve been a two minute call, Mikey took at least ten to relay the information necessary for the emergency personnel to find them. Not only was the reception poor and breaking up, but Mikey was continually swept up in Frank’s words, resonating deeply with his regrets. The responder kept having to reign him back in, and it was only as Frank was sputtering wordlessly that he was uttering, “Okay… okay… yeah… bye,” and hanging up his phone. He all but fell forward, joining Frank, Ray, and his brother’s body, the air evaporating from his chest. He felt like he had been punched in the gut, barely having been able to hold it together long enough to make the call. 

Frank lifted his head to acknowledge Mikey as Ray broke the envelopment, putting a hand on Mikey’s back in empathy. Frank turned, looking at him with great guilt before slamming into him with a hug, “I’m so sorry, Mikey, you were fucking right, you were  _ right _ . I should’ve listened, I’m so  _ sorry _ .” 

Mikey let a loud sob tear from his chest as the heartache reignited and dozed over him. He hugged Frank back as hard as he could. He couldn’t believe Gerard was  _ gone _ . “Not your f-fault,” was all Mikey could get out as he grieved heavily with Frank.

Ray sat back, closing his eyes and letting himself, too, feel the effects of the loss of Gerard. Things were never going to be quite the same without his unique opinion on the world. He drew a deep breath, scooting away from the mourning men and kneeling beside Gerard’s body. He gingerly lifted each of his hands, resting them on his chest. Ray looked at Gerard’s face, and even he could tell that Gerard had died in a moment where there was only love in his heart. He ached for them, and unable to bear looking at Gerard’s open eyes for a second longer, he was moving to close them when he stopped himself. Instead, he leaned over the body, putting a tender hand on Frank’s soaked back, “Frankie, we have to close his eyes before the first responders get here. It’s time to say goodbye.” His last sentence was a fragile whisper. Ray wasn’t ready, so he knew all too well that Frank wasn’t either, but if they didn’t do this now he knew they’d have no true closure at all. 

Frank whimpered, but he squeezed Mikey and pulled back. He knew Ray was right, and he also knew how things had panned out the last time he’d ignored his friends’ advice. The two of them turned towards Gerard, wiping their faces. Frank cradled Gerard’s face in his hands, committing his features to his permanent memories. His fingers hovered over Gerard’s eyelids, reluctant. Mikey was sniveling beside him, but as he started encouragingly rubbing his back, Frank found the strength. He gently shut Gerard’s eyes, glimpsing the glassy hazel for what would be the last time in his life. Frank’s face broke and he trembled, leaning his forehead down to rest against Gerard’s as he cradled his head in his hands. “I love you so much, Gerard Way,” he quavered. He felt like he was still crying, his chest squeezed into a ball, but his tears had run dry. 

The three of them moved to sit side by side, facing the path the responders would find them near. Ray was stoic and hardened and Mikey was weeping, although quietly. Frank held one of Gerard’s hands, resting his knuckles against his chest, uncaring of how morbid the gesture may be. They sat loyally huddled together, chilled though the rain was finally starting to let up.

There came a point where Ray started questioning if Mikey had even called 911, if they were going to show up at all, but then he heard sirens. From there, it was only a matter of minutes before paramedics were jogging towards them with a stretcher, a bodybag, and an armful of space blankets for the shivering men. Mikey and Ray accepted the tin foil-like squares, huddling underneath to try and recollect some warmth.

As they approached Frank and simultaneously started trying to remove Gerard’s body, he aggressively rejected the space blanket and let out a guttural, splintering shriek, covering Gerard’s body with his own, “ _ No _ ! You can’t take him from me!”

Mikey flinched, jarred by the outburst. “Frank,” he said, his voice hurting, “They  _ have _ to.” His face had formed into apathy, and he was unmoving from under the glaring blanket. 

The paramedics tried to peel him away from the corpse, and Frank screamed bloody murder, “I’m not  _ ready _ ! This isn't the end! You can’t fucking have him!” He clutched onto the body, his face unrecognizable with agony next to Gerard’s peaceful, sleeping features. 

Ray was the one to lean forward, putting both hands on his heaving shoulders and squeezing. His heart breaking on repeat, he reminded Frank, “We  _ have _ to say goodbye.”

Frank gasped erratically, but his locked fingers eventually let up, releasing Gerard’s body with finality. He leaned back into Ray, entirely unbreathing, ears full of white noise as the paramedics lifted Gerard into a bodybag and zipped it up, hiding his face from the dwindling rain, the world, and Frank. As they carried him away on the stretcher, Frank plunged forward, clawing at the grass and howling until his throat was raw. 

\--

Frank kneeled in the grass, the stars twinkling above him in the impossibly clear night. He wiped his eyes and performed a few mindful breathing exercises. Gerard’s death was inescapable, something that Frank still dreamt about often. He was stronger now, understanding that the only way to abate the renewed emotion welling up was to let it hurt and let it pass. He hung his head in everlasting grief, reaching out and smoothing his palm over Gerard’s beautifully inscripted name on the face of his gravestone. The cold black granite was a harsh reminder of the absence of Gerard’s warmth, making Frank’s breath hitch. “I hate the ending myself, but it started with an alright scene,” Frank whispered, his voice shaky.

“What’s that?” Gerard’s voice was clear as glass in Frank’s head. He’d been talking to a headstone that couldn’t reply for long enough to be considered clinically insane, but he would swear the granite could talk back. The only thing that had kept him in the cemetery for so long was the crisp image of Gerard perched on his own headstone or kneeled close to him in the grass, brushing his fingers over their matching leg tattoo. He pictured Gerard with long hair still, but dyed bright red as he had impulsively mentioned doing when they’d hitch hiked. His voice, his responses, had come easily to Frank, and the comfort of knowing what Gerard would say if he had grown old was solely his. 

“The final song,” Frank answered, dropping his hands into his lap and staring at the full inscription on the headstone. 

_ Here Lies Gerard Way _

1977 - 2005 

_ May Angels Lead You In _

“The last song? You mean…?” Gerard prompted. Frank could easily envision his excited eyes anticipating the answer.

“The Black Parade. It’s finished, Gee,” Frank smiled sadly, “It’s called Disenchanted. I actually wrote it a  _ long _ time ago. The record got shelved, though… Never reached production. No one could ever sing those bars like you, anyway.” Frank had no fucking clue why he was lying out loud to a gravestone, but he had never actually ended up telling another soul that the two of them had written almost an entire album on the first day of their bender. It was something that Frank had kept close, unwilling to share with the remainder of his band, let alone the rest of the world. “But it’s complete. I still have all of the sheets… I think the last song was missing because it hadn’t happened yet,” Frank’s voice was quiet, as if he was afraid someone else would be in the graveyard and overhear at such an hour. 

“The missing piece, huh?” Gerard pondered with satisfaction, “You’ll have to come back and play it for me some time.” 

Frank laughed nervously, taken off guard. “Oh, Jesus, I don’t know about that,” he protested, but as his heart quickened and his throat tightened, he drew a long breath and allowed himself to accept the fact that this was clearly something his subconscious wanted. “Okay,” he retracted, “Some time, yeah. Just a bit rusty is all, I haven’t played it in years.”

“That’s okay, you can practice here,” Gerard said encouragingly and Frank nodded with a small smile of assent. They sat together quietly and it wasn’t until Frank laid down in the grass beside the grave that Gerard broke the silence again, “What else has changed?” Frank could see Gerard moving to sit cross legged by his head, he could almost feel his feathery touch as Gerard traced his features, his fingertips just not  _ quite _ able to connect with his brow bone.

Frank closed his eyes, imagining a time where Gerard could caress him, where all they cared to do was hold each other. “The night you died was the last time I ever did blow,” he said offhandedly.

Frank wasn’t really sure that he’d answered the question, but Gerard said, “Good.”

“The court case with Bert was thrown out,” Frank recalled. 

“He must’ve been pissed about that,” Gerard replied with a chuckle.

Frank attempted a smile, but the corners of his mouth fell instead. “I… I don’t know. The managers have always kept that from me. I never heard from him personally again,” he admitted. 

“Oh,” Gerard deadpanned. He frowned a little, sitting back in the grass to get a better look at Frank, “All of that was so long ago, Frankie, what else has happened?”

“Stop,” Frank furrowed his eyebrows, his eyes squeezed shut. He covered his face with his hands, the image of Gerard’s delicate fingers wisping away. Between drugs and trauma, his memory was still kind of fucked, and his longtime broken state was somehow even hazier than the events leading up to Gerard’s death. “It was pill popping for the longest time, don’t you get that? Me  _ and _ Mikey. He-he blamed  _ himself,  _ and _ fuck _ , we all left so many things unsaid,” Frank’s voice broke and he rolled on his side, turning towards the headstone as tears leaked from his eyes in betrayal, “I lived through your death a million fucking times, G.”

“I’m  _ sorry- _ ” Gerard started, but his voice along with the ghostly body Frank had visualized evaporated entirely. 

“You’re  _ not _ !” Frank shouted, sobbing. Impulsively, he pulled his arm back and punched the side of Gerard’s moon bathed headstone so hard his knuckles split open, bloodied. He gasped, pulling his fist back into his chest and cradling it as he cried, forehead pressed into the cool earth. “I’m sorry, I’m  _ sorry _ ,” he whimpered, regretting his actions immediately, “Come back,  _ please _ come back.” He meant it in more ways than one, but he couldn’t conjure Gerard’s soothing voice in his tortured, jumbled mind. Instead, he was assaulted by memories of the freshest days consequent to Gerard’s death.

\--

“Come on, Frankie…” whoever had said it was indiscernible to his ears. Frank was lying in a spare bed in Mikey’s basement, the covers pulled up around his eyes as his closest friends dressed only in black filled the room. They were sitting on the bed, kneeling by the bedside, and standing back with their arms folded in worry. 

Only three days had passed since Gerard’s death, how could anyone expect Frank to have processed enough to be ready for this day? He considered it cruel that funerals weren’t to be held far in the future, long after the body was resting beneath the earth. He’d seen Gerard’s peaceful face in his repetitive, coke-damaged nightmares two dozen times in the past three days, how was he supposed to view the body of his lover in the flesh again? He couldn’t even stand to go back to his empty apartment, having crashed in Mikey’s basement since they’d left the soaked park. He’d had it in him to change into warm clothes and then he was bed-bound with grief. Not enough time had passed for that to have changed, and his voice had decisiveness about it when he spoke from under the blankets, “I’m not going.”

There was a chorus of outcries from around the room, protesting his statement. “You can’t  _ not _ go,” Jamia said with slight exasperation. 

“If you don’t go you’ll regret it so much,” Ray stressed, and Bob nodded vigorously though Frank couldn’t see him. 

“He would want you there,” Patrick said gently, standing behind a kneeling Pete with a hand on his shoulder. 

“Yeah, man, you  _ gotta _ go,” Pete agreed.

“Even  _ I’m _ going,” Mikey said brokenly, hurt by Frank’s decision. 

Frank was silent for a long time and the room waited on him with bated breath, tense. Eventually, it was apparent that he was shuddering beneath the blankets and it didn’t take long before he was rasping for breath. “I can’t,” he insisted, voice raw with guilt from being the only person weak enough to skip Gerard’s sendoff, but too stricken to drag himself out of bed.

His friends stayed for a while, hoping they could change his mind and get him made up, but he wasn’t moving. Eventually, they all succumbed to Frank’s stubbornness and resolved to offer their condolences one by one before leaving to attend the service. 

“We gotta get going, bud, but we’ll be back to check on you,” Ray said, kneeling beside the bed to say goodbye first. He endearingly pet Frank’s already-mussed hair poking out from the covers. “I’ll be thinking of you.” 

Frank hiccuped in thanks, still hiding his blotchy, tear-stained face and unable to muster any actual words. 

Bob stood beside the bed, his hands shoved in the pockets of his dress pants as he watched Ray. “I was really excited to get to know him,” he added, twisting the toe of his polished black shoe into the carpet. “Hang in there, man,” Bob was never very eloquent, but he was trying. 

“Bye, Frankie,” Ray sighed and stood up, hanging his head slightly in defeat as he and Bob exited the room to wait for Mikey. He really thought he’d be able to convince Frank to go in the hour they’d been trying to coax him, and he hated himself for being unsuccessful. 

Bob awkwardly patted Ray on the back in empathy, unable to conjure any more words of comfort. The whole thing was just fucked. 

Mikey didn’t take long to catch up with them. He’d stood in the room, glaring at Frank as Pete and Patrick, their mutual friends, comforted  _ him _ . Frank may have been in love with Gerard, but they’d only known each other a little longer than two years. Mikey had fucking grown up with him, having looked up to him almost his entire life. He shook with anger, wondering how no one else could see how selfish Frank was being. Mikey couldn’t help but feel as though he had it worse. He’d gathered that Frank had essentially been on a twisted honeymoon when Gerard died, so he imagined that those last words to his younger brother were sickening in comparison to what Frank had to live with. Mikey was mourning a lifetime of memories, and even he had found it in himself to get dressed for this day if nothing else. More than that, Frank was crashing at  _ Mikey’s _ place, and he couldn’t even do this for him? Mikey opened his mouth to lash out, equally angry at his friends for their inconsideration towards him, but he stopped himself to ponder whether he, too, was being selfish. Based on the things they were all saying to Frank, each and every one of them were grieving differently. Plus, if Frank really wasn’t going, he supposed this should be his moment. He clenched his jaw, still deeply hurt by Frank’s absence. In silent protest, he resolved to turn on his heel and leave the room without offering words of consolation. Mikey walked briskly towards the two waiting men, muttering, “Let’s go.” As they headed for Ray’s car, he tried not to think too hard about the incredulous look Jamia had shot him on the way out of the spare room.

Both kneeling beside the bed now, Patrick watched Mikey leave wordlessly, biting his lip. He wanted to catch up with him, but instead he turned back to the sad mound of blankets that was Frank. “We’ll check in on you, too,” he promised, gently patting what he roughly gauged to be Frank’s shoulder, “I hate to have to go, but just know we’re here for you.” 

“Yeah,” Pete agreed, peering at Frank with deep empathy, “I’m so fucking sorry for your loss, man, I know how much you loved him.” He rubbed the back of his neck; even he, Pete Wentz, could not come up with a joke for this scenario. “We’ll be back,” he solidified Patrick’s sentiment. 

When Frank was unresponsive, Jamia just nodded to them in thanks on both of their behalf. “You can head on, I got him,” she said softly, squeezing Patrick’s forearm in appreciation. 

“We’ll see you soon,” Patrick assented, standing up with Pete. They took a last look at Frank before they settled on joining the funeral parade. Pete slung his arm around Patrick on the way out, keeping him close in light of witnessing Frank’s loss. 

Finally, there was no one left but Jamia. If she stayed much longer, she’d miss the beginning of the ceremony, but she couldn’t stop staring at Frank, her heart breaking for him. She’d been miles closer to Frank than G, plus it seemed as though she was usually one of the people picking up the pieces after Gerard shattered her friend in countless new ways. She sat in the silence for a while, soothingly rubbing his leg as his shaking finally subsided. 

“Are they all gone?” Frank mumbled, gulping. 

“Yeah,” she answered, “You can come out of hiding now.” Frank allowed a broken chuckle before he pulled the tear-soaked blankets from his face. His cheeks were patchy and his eyes had dark bags under them. It was also debatable that he was still faintly reeling from the white, having taken so much into his system in such little time and for the first time ever. Jamia pat his thigh in encouragement, gazing at Frank’s desolate eyes. “Are you gonna be okay if I head to the service?” she asked, frowning a little. She really didn’t want to leave Frank all alone just knowing where everyone would be gathered without him. She’d never forget the first time she’d truly met him, mid breakdown, and the self-destruction he was capable of. He could be so erratic and spontaneous; it almost felt wrong to leave him unsupervised, as if he were a child. 

“I’ll manage,” Frank mumbled, wiping at his face and sniffling. Everything felt impossible at the moment, he wasn’t at much risk of anything. 

“Do you need anything before I go?” she pressed, squeezing his leg in slight urgency. She just cared so much.

“No, that’s okay,” Frank allowed for a tiny smile on the corners of his lips, “Thanks, Jamia. You’re the best.” 

“ _ Okay _ ,” she said reluctantly, “But you haven’t seen the last of me, Iero. I’ll be back, too.”

Frank rolled his eyes and reached out to give her a weak, playful shove, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“And you’re  _ sure _ you don’t want to go? It’s not too late; I’m a stylist, remember?” Jamia offered in one last ditch effort to motivate him. 

Her face faltered at Frank’s deadpan reply, “I’m  _ sure _ .” 

“Okay,” Jamia put on a smile anyway, trying desperately to play the optimist as she finally let herself off the bed, “Everyone has so much love for you, Frankie. You’re not alone in this.”

“I know,” Frank acknowledged the sentiment, but he was so, so tired, “Thank you.” Even Jamia’s solace exhausted him to a degree. He settled back into the bed, pulling the blankets tightly around him as she let herself out of the room. Her silhouette disappeared, leaving Frank completely alone. He was comforted only by the knowledge that everyone in the world who cared about him was preoccupied, so no one would be around to hear his gasping, howling, and begging into nothingness. 

*

“Hello, anyone up?” had been Ray’s go-to greeting for the past month. Frank and Mikey barely left their beds, let alone the house. He was always glad to find one of them milling around, even if it was just to wander or put a frozen meal in the microwave. 

Things had been pretty stagnant. The two who were affected most by the loss of Gerard were still living together, and it was quickly becoming long term. Though they were barely talking, Mikey wasn’t so cruel to force Frank to return to the apartment that he’d shared with Gerard. Frank’s absence at the funeral had driven a wedge in their relationship, but since they seldom crossed paths, Mikey’s own forlorn distractions left him no reason to openly complain. Despite their lack of interaction, it was almost as if they fed off of each other’s lack of willingness to live, and the energy constantly ascended all floors of the household. It was an accomplishment for either of them to get up to use the bathroom more than twice a day. They ate only when they couldn’t ignore their hunger any longer, and cooking was out of the question. All adult responsibility was out the window. 

It had been mostly Ray and Jamia checking in every few days and essentially looking after them, doing what little laundry they produced, bringing them groceries, coaxing them to at  _ least _ change their clothes if they weren’t going to shower for another week. Ray didn’t mind because it gave him things to do as he quietly worked through his own grief. Jamia had grown fond of them both, and even more appreciative of Ray, so she made the trip from New York to Jersey at least once a week. Together, they did their best to keep the sad boys alive if not well. 

As Ray rounded the corner of the small entrance of the older house he sighed as he dropped an armful of groceries onto the linoleum kitchen floor. He caught Frank in his peripherals and jumped back, a hand over his heart. “Jesus, you scared me. Why didn’t you answer when I called out?” he chuckled a little, rubbing the back of his neck. His question was more rhetorical than anything, and he moved on swiftly when Frank didn’t reply to his second query, either, “You feeling any better today, buddy?”

Frank withdrew his hand from his pocket with a strange look in his foggy eyes, as if he had just been caught doing something wrong. Jamia may have been sharper, but Ray didn’t catch it. He recovered quickly and dropped his eyes from Ray’s coffee ones, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “Eh,” he shrugged, “Thanks for getting groceries.” Frank was sitting at the kitchen table with a big, half-filled crystal ashtray in front of him. The stove fan was on and there was a lit cigarette between his yellowing fingers, proof that he had been chain smoking for quite a while. He picked at a corner of the pack on the table, the last two smokes loosely rolling around inside. 

“All good,” Ray responded, mentally brushing off Frank’s weak reply. Talking to his shell was something he had quickly and unfortunately grown accustomed to. There was barely any personality peering from behind the heaping depression. He watched Frank for a few seconds, lips pursed. “Those aren’t your usual-  _ Oh _ ,” Ray stopped himself as he connected the dots. Frank preferred American Spirit blues, but he had burned through almost an entire pack of Marlboro reds. It took a second, but he recalled Marbs being Gerard’s brand of choice. He gingerly moved the grocery bags to the counter and began unpacking them, quickly changing the subject, “How long have you been up here?” He didn’t want to seem like he was avoiding the topic but, well, he was. Frank had been known to break down at any mention of Gerard’s name, and his face was raked with pain during any extended talk of him. Ray only ventured the subject if Frank brought it up first. 

Frank cringed and puffed at his cigarette upon the obvious realization. He shrugged again as Ray started putting away things he had bought, “A while, I guess.” He just kept staring at the almost empty pack, his face raw with recent tears. “Heading back down soon,” Frank let him know, stubbing out his cigarette and lighting the second to last one. 

Ray glanced at Frank as he turned to the cupboard, sighing a little with worry. “You don’t have to leave just because I’m here,” he tried.

“I know. I was almost done anyway,” Frank deadpanned. He sounded so apathetic. 

“Okay… Is there anything I can do for you while I’m here?” Ray asked, but Frank shook his head. 

From there, the conversation died and could not be revived. Ray unpacked the groceries as Frank sat at the kitchen table, smoking until the butt was finished. He stood up, shoving the pack with one remaining cigarette in his pocket. Then he retreated to the basement without so much as another word to Ray. It’s not that he didn’t appreciate him, quite the opposite. Ray was doing so much for them, and Frank could only guiltily say thank you so many times. He felt strongly that he was undeserving of his friends, so he had nothing new left to say. 

He traipsed back to his room, putting the pack of Marlboros on the bedside table with his lighter before bunkering down in his bed. Frank shoved his hand into the other pocket of his sweats and his fingers wrapped around a plastic bottle. He retrieved it and held it at eye level, staring at the little pills through the transparent orange casing. He’d been steadily stealing percocets from Mikey, but he wasn’t really worried about getting caught by his roommate. First off, Mikey had been equally as doped up as Frank ever since the funeral. Secondly, when Frank had opened the medicine cabinet to locate the things, he’d been presented with at least a dozen bottles packed full with months worth of scripts. He assumed Mikey had to have a hell of a crooked doctor, but he wasn’t about to question the one silver lining he had discovered. 

Frank finally popped open the bottle and sighed in comfort and familiarity, just gazing at the pills for a while. He was so glad Ray hadn’t walked in a few seconds sooner to find him at the kitchen table swooning over the bottle the same way he was now. He fished out a pair of perkies and washed them down with the remaining water from a glass that had been sitting on his bedside table for at least three days. Finally, he settled back into his nest of a bed and closed his eyes. He waited impatiently for his endless thoughts of Gerard, the way he smoked and smelled, all of it, to be muted by a thick fog. 

Upstairs, Ray had watched Frank go wordlessly with a deep frown, trying not to take it personally. He was more worried about permanently losing another friend than being ignored. He made a mental note to update Jamia sooner rather than later, and quickly finished unpacking the groceries. Before leaving again, he headed down the main floor hallway off the left of the kitchen, knocking on a door at the end of the hall. “It’s me,” Ray announced. 

“Come in,” Mikey replied. He wasn’t much better than Frank in terms of self care, and possibly even worse when it came to abusing his scripts, but he was overall more responsive to their visitors. He didn’t hold his own baggage against them, whereas Frank had shut down completely, mad at the whole world. Instead, Mikey displayed a decent effort at socializing, waving weakly when Ray let himself in and perched on the edge of his bed. “Hey,” Mikey said.

“Hey,” Ray greeted with a gentle smile, “How are you feeling?” His eyes wandered and the bedside table answered the question for him. Unabashed, Mikey had littered the small square surface with varying tiers of beer cans. Ray assumed that it hadn’t taken long, because some of the floor space in front of the table mimicked the stacked fashion.

“Could be better, could be worse,” Mikey slurred slightly and blinked at Ray. His childhood spaceship blanket, outfitted with primary colours, was pulled up around his chin and he was clearly feeling no pain. He vaguely remembered warning Frank not to fuck around heavily mixing liquor and percs, and here he was, a hypocrite. Just as Gerard had accused him to be. But Mikey was in love with it: loopy, hazy, rolling so smoothly with life’s punches that he couldn’t feel a stitch of the pain. Sure, there was a somewhat severe price to pay. He wasn’t confident he’d ever admit it out loud, but there had been more than one occasion where Mikey would drift into an intoxicated sleep, lulled by the booze and paralyzed by the pills. Anchored to his mattress, on his back, but too drunk. Playing God. Vomiting. Choking. Sleeping. Dying, yet always managing to drag himself back to consciousness, rasping for breath through sludge in his airways. Always at the last second it seemed, eyes bulging, Mikey would force his sedated body to the side. He’d puke over the edge of his bed, coughing for minutes in what should be a panic, but the pills barely acknowledged his sickly state. How many rounds of Russian Roulette until Mikey was scared straight? Still, he peered at Ray without regret, favouring intoxication over the spitting  _ you’re dead to me  _ engraved into his sober mind. “Could be dead, too, I guess,” Mikey deadpanned, eyes glazed as he imagined himself unable to wake up in time; just one pill, one beer too many. How could he ever tell Ray something like that? Mikey considered himself as good as his dead brother, just on the opposite end of the drug scene. 

“Could be dead, I guess,” Ray repeated solemnly. He firmly rubbed Mikey’s arm, concerned, “Anything I can do?” Some days he was tempted to just move in. No matter how often he and Jamia came, it didn’t feel like quite enough. The house held two men with death wishes, and Ray was trying desperately to keep them around. 

“You’ve done enough. You’re so good, Ray,” Mikey said, his voice thick. He reached out to pat Ray’s cheek and missed, his arm flopping limply back onto his chest. It was all of the physical effort he could muster. He chuckled at himself. 

Ray smiled sadly, grasping Mikey’s hand in his own giant palm. He rested his knuckles on Mikey’s chest, subconsciously kneading them into his breastbone for comfort. “Let me do more. Please, it helps me, too,” Ray stressed, genuine.

Mikey squeezed his hand and shook his head ever so slightly, “We don’t deserve it.” Frank may be unwilling to repeat himself, but Mikey would grovel, guilty in every way. 

“Mikey, shut up,” Ray retorted, shaking his head, “And just let me cook for you.” 

Mikey smiled unsuredly, barely retaining the conversation, but he assented, “I guess I could go for some scrambled eggs.” 

*

“I have a proposal for you. Well, you  _ and _ Mikey,” Ray started. He’d been sitting on the edge of Frank’s bed, rubbing his back in silence for quite some time while he worked up the nerve to make his ask. 

“What’s that?” Frank murmured. His eyes were closed and his cheek pressed into a pillow as he relaxed under Ray’s soothing hand. Two months had passed since the death and neither Frank nor Mikey had improved on any account. Their routine seemed ingrained into the very foundation of the house. 

Ray drew a deep, calculated breath. He was so nervous about pitching to Frank especially, but he would rather be disappointed than left wondering. “I… I’ve been writing music. A lot. I started after the... funeral, and it kind of just wrote itself. An album, I mean,” Ray tried to reorganize his thoughts, already flustered by the probability that Frank would immediately shoot him down. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing.

“Go on…” Frank murmured into the pillow after Ray had petered into multiple moments of silence. He tried to sound supportive, but he already didn’t like where the conversation was leading.

Ray shook his head, hair bouncing. He swallowed hard and continued, “It really helped me. That, and coming here… it helped,” he stressed, “So I tracked the record at home, and the managers are willing to put us on tour for it,” Ray bit his lip hard. He honestly didn’t really believe that they necessarily liked his solo content, but they’d begrudgingly agreed that Frank needed something to keep him busy, so Ray would take what he could get. The record had been intended for healing, not exposure, and more than anything, he only wanted to be on stage with his friends again. “It wouldn’t be super crazy, just… I want you and Mikey there with me. I want to heal  _ with _ you, on the road, Frankie. I  _ miss _ you.” Ray gently squeezed Frank’s shoulder before comfortingly kneading the heel of his hand between his blades. He stared at the back of Frank’s head, trying to read him as he delivered his closing thought, “Would you join me?”

Frank was quiet for what felt like a painfully long time, digesting Ray’s words. The conversation had gone  _ exactly _ where he’d expected it to, and his first instinct was to say no. Couldn’t Ray see that Frank was mourning? But then, Ray had pointed out, so was he; it seemed he just had a much healthier way of coping. Not only that, but he was inviting Frank into his bubble, offering to share his healing process. Finally, after much pondering, Frank sighed and rolled over onto his back, making eye contact with Ray for the first time all day. “You really wrote an entire album in, like, a month?” Frank offered a look of incredulity. 

Ray couldn’t help but laugh a little. He took Frank’s playful response and eye contact as a good sign, hopeful. “Yeah, I really did,” he admitted. 

“Well, I wanna hear it obviously, but…” Frank chewed the inside of his cheek, “Have you talked to Mikey yet? I don’t know if he even wants to see my face…” This was the most conversation Frank had indulged in in weeks. He’d be a liar if he said Ray hadn’t piqued his interest. Maybe a sense of familiarity  _ would _ help.

Ray smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck, nodding. “Yeah. I wanted to test the waters with him first,” he admitted, “He said yes... I think he misses you,” Ray said earnestly.

Frank removed his hands from under the covers and rubbed his face with both of them, sighing. He was still unsure, but he felt almost obligated after Mikey had given him a place to sleep and Ray had done everything else in between. “Okay,” Frank finally agreed, his voice thick with resistance, “I’ll hit the road again.”

*

“Are you sure about this, bud? We can stop any time,” Ray was leaning up against some scaffolding backstage, arms folded and brows furrowed with worry. Tour wasn’t going exactly how he had planned. They were about two weeks in and while Mikey seemed to be slowly improving, Frank was only getting worse. Every night before the shows, Ray gave Frank an out, but he was always brushed off.

Tonight was no exception. “I’m sure, it’s fine. I’m  _ fine _ ,” Frank lied earnestly, though he knew neither of them believed his strained voice. He was guilty and embarrassed, hating himself as he watched Mikey losing himself to the music with Ray and Bob each night, leaving Frank in the dust. He just couldn’t get in the right headspace; he couldn’t connect with the art the same way he had once been able to. Frank broke Ray’s gaze, eyes downcast. The last thing he wanted was for Ray to feel that he was being taken for granted, like Frank wasn’t putting in any effort when the regression was something he just couldn’t help. He felt like he was drowning, but he couldn’t explain himself. So he lied his way through, opting to show up to the stage each night with a broken smile, even if it never went how he wanted it to either. It was a vicious cycle that Frank wouldn’t wish on anyone. “Let’s just do this, I don’t want to be the one holding you back,” he muttered, kicking at the chipped cement floor.

“Hey,” Ray bit his lip, unfolding his arms to grip Frank’s shoulders, “Look at me.” He didn’t continue until he had captured the smaller man’s gaze, “You’ll never be holding me back. If this isn’t working, then it isn’t working. You gotta do whatever helps  _ you _ , peanut.”

Frank scoffed a little, but Ray still managed to elicit the smallest grin from him. “ _ Peanut _ . Shut up. C’mon, the crowd’s waiting,” Frank pat Ray’s forearm, leaning into him and letting the larger sling his arm around his shoulders as they grouped up with the rest of the band. 

“You ready?” Mikey asked gently, trying not to treat Frank too much like a wounded baby bird but, well, the point was moot. Even if he wasn’t attempting to curb his script use, Mikey was in higher spirits, glad for the distraction that Ray offered. He was desperate to move forward from the pain. With his resentment replaced by concern, he could easily see the contrast of his own progression parallel to Frank’s. Even Bob had been making a clumsy attempt at what he considered to be “gentle”, and he nodded along intently to Mikey’s three syllables. 

Frank had to hold back the urge to roll his eyes at Bob’s entirely too-focused face, reminding himself that they were all just trying to look out for him. “Ready,” Frank confirmed, and he let them give him a squeeze or pat his back as they made for the stage.

*

_ You said yourself, you wouldn’t cry tonight. _ Ray glanced over his shoulder at Frank as he launched into the song, his expression faltering a little. Contrary to the lyrics, Frank’s face was hidden in his dark, shaggy hair and his cheeks were wet. 

_ But evidence will show, after all this, it’s alright.  _ They were about halfway through the set. He’d started off strong, but Frank was fading fast. As his bandmates reconnected with the music, he felt jarred by the words. 

_ Hard to hear the words you say.  _ Each night as he unearthed more of Ray’s tiny nods to their shared trauma, his responses only grew more painful and obvious. He used to only require a nudge from Mikey to reel him back in, but occasional spacing out had turned into frequent tears which were evolving into panic attacks.

_ Never look too long for the answers that may never come your way.  _ Frank wasn’t ready to face the music. He felt suffocated, like he’d had no time to mourn Gerard, while everyone else seemed to be moving on too quickly and effortlessly. He didn’t know if he’d ever be able to put his pain into words like Ray had done. He couldn’t breathe. 

_ Mama told me I should stand alone. _ All Frank could focus on were the lyrics. Distracted, his fingers fumbled across the neck of his guitar until he quickly gave up playing altogether. He was preoccupied, haunted by the memories of Gerard no matter where he went or what he did.

_ Papa said you’re better on your own.  _ Sinking to his knees, Frank held his head in his hands, overwhelmed. Tears flowed freely and he quickly forgot where he was, let alone that he was on stage in front of a crowd. 

_ Isn’t that something?  _ Frank’s nerves were shot. He cradled his whining guitar to his chest as he rocked in a fetal position, sobbing. 

_ Isn’t that something? _ He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t tour. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready. 

_ Isn’t that something? _ He was never going to live life normally again, not without Gerard. Music would never sound the same, cigarettes would never taste the same, everything was grey. As he gasped for breath, those were now the only things he was sure of.

_ Isn’t that something?  _ Finally. Hands hooking under his arms. Dragging him up, pulling him off stage. Frank wasn’t entirely sure the order in which the events took place or who had removed him from prying eyes. He could vaguely hear Ray apologizing to confused outcries from the crowd, live instruments fading into intermissiary music, and his own heart thumping in his ears. Frank’s guitar was removed from his body and Mikey was kneeling in front of him, speaking words he couldn’t hear as the anxiety attack engulfed him. It had only been a couple minutes, but he couldn’t remember if Mikey had pushed, pulled, or carried him to the torn leather couch his sweat-soaked clothes were sticking to. Mikey squeezed Frank’s legs in an attempt to ground him. Ray was suddenly on the couch beside him, an arm around his back as Frank turned reflexively, shuddering into his chest. Bob hovered behind Mikey with his arms folded and an uncomfortable but concerned look on his face. 

“I want to g-go  _ home _ ,” Frank stuttered into Ray’s green crew neck sweater. He made the admittal before he even truly realized what he was requesting; he didn’t mean Mikey’s basement. 

“I know,” Ray said gently, smoothing down Frank’s overgrown mop of soft curls. 

“N-Not-” Frank started, but Ray only wrapped his other arm around him and hugged him into silence.

“I  _ know _ ,” Ray stressed, rubbing his heaving back.

“I-I’m sorry,” Frank cried. He never wanted to be the reason the entire tour flopped. 

“Don’t be, I’ll be just fine,” Ray tucked a few loose strands of hair behind Frank’s ear, “We’ll get you home,” he whispered the promise. 

With Ray’s assurance and Mikey’s renewed display of fellowship, Frank finally started to calm down. 

He was finally going back to the place that held the last true remaining essence of Gerard. 

*

As Frank stepped into his apartment building, he felt winded. He hadn’t even made it up the stairs to his unit, but a realization jolted him; he hadn’t been home for more than  _ three months _ . He had been so depressed he hadn’t even considered paying utilities or rent. In fact, shouldn’t he be evicted? He knew his landlord wasn’t  _ that _ lenient. The notion that Jamia and Ray had taken care of absolutely  _ everything, _ including future issues he’d never foreseen, nearly brought him to his knees in the apartment lobby. He blinked away appreciative tears, shaking his head as he climbed the stairs. 

Frank stood outside his apartment door on the second floor, holding his breath. He half expected Gerard to be sprawled on the couch, making grabby hands and asking  _ What took you so long?  _ His mind started to wander to the kisses that would follow, but he forced the image away in favour of steeling himself for the actual reality that awaited him inside. Cold, empty, untouched for months. The last time he was home, they’d both been on a bender for two days prior to leaving; what kind of state had they actually left it in?

Frank let out a heaving breath and finally pushed his key into the lock. It clicked open without resistance, evidence that rent had somehow been paid. He gripped the doorknob so hard his hand began to cramp until finally, he worked up the courage to let himself in. The old, thick, and weathered oak door obliged and he was immediately jarred by a blinding, breathtaking sense of Gerard. 

  
  


Home. It’s a funny word. One could live in many houses throughout a lifetime, but have very few homes. Frank considered all of the places he’d resided in his years, temporary or not, but this one overpowered all others. As he stepped inside, silent and unexpected tears rolled down his cheeks. God, he could still smell Gerard even from the entryway, the cologne drifting to him in wafts. He shut the door behind him, locking it to assure privacy, and moved to take his shoes off. Looking down, he felt a slight pang at the sight of Gerard’s American flagged Chucks sitting on the shoe mat. Frank stood still in his socks for a moment, hesitant as he wiped his eyes. The tears were still coming, but more from his surprising relief of being home than from sadness. After a few moments of listening to his own heart, he decided that he could be as strange as he wanted. Glad to be alone, he slipped on Gerard’s converse, haphazardly tying the laces and staring down at his feet as he chewed on his lip ring. Gerard wore these shoes religiously, which was why he kept them by the door; it was only fluke that he didn’t wear them on the day they’d left the apartment. 

Frank sighed a little, lifting his head and taking his first real steps into the apartment at last. He sucked in his lips, peering around, not sure where to start. The place actually wasn’t too rough. The kitchen was relatively clean considering the fact that they had barely eaten the entire time they’d been home from New York. One thing he immediately noticed, though, was the cutting board, a razor, and empty baggies on the counter. Their breakfasts had very much been Hollywood Style and the station had obviously been carelessly left in the open for months. It made Frank’s stomach flip with shame, so he ignored the kitchen. The living room… he couldn’t face that yet either, his cheeks burning as he remembered the state they’d left  _ it _ in. 

Instead, he turned swiftly, but took his time walking down the hallway in Gerard’s shoes, his fingers gliding along the wall. He blinked slowly as renewed tears welled; he could picture himself fumbling down the carpeted corridor with his lover on more than one occasion. He stopped to admire a painting Gerard had gifted to him, pushing on the corner just slightly to straighten it on the wall. 

He continued down the hall, stopping between two doors momentarily before deciding to enter Gerard’s room instead of his own. It was definitely the messier of the two, but Frank didn’t care. He gasped a little upon entering, taken aback by the familiar feeling only Gerard could elicit. He sunk to his knees, shaky. He slumped forward, gripping at the floor and clumsily dragging himself to a pile of Gerard’s clothes, both dirty and clean. Uncaring, he collapsed in the heap, hiccuping with both joy and sorrow. He cried into the fabrics for some time, inhaling the strong scent of Gerard as he hugged an armful at random, curled up on the floor and on his side. He wondered if a pile of clothes would be the closest he’d ever get to Gerard again. 

When he had worked through the shock of emotion, Frank pulled off his own shirt without much thought and put on one of Gerard’s worn long-sleeves. He hugged himself, rolling onto his back and lying in the clothes as he stared at the popcorn ceiling, sore eyes slowly drifting around the room. If it were anyone else’s, he would consider it trashed, but it would be strange if there were a lack of sticky notes, photos, articles, and doodles strewn across these walls. The pockets of knick knacks and mementos, a whole case for his makeup. 

Frank pulled himself up, smoothing his hands down his chest as he wandered to the vanity. It was possibly the only tidy surface, the makeup he’d collected over the tours meticulously organized. Frank prodded through the contents, smiling slightly at the abused compact of Gash, all of the pigment used to the very bottom of the pan except for the edges. He hadn’t found the shade until the tour with MSI, but he had clearly loved it well. Frank withdrew his hand from the collection, hugging himself again and turning away from the vanity when he glimpsed himself, puffy-eyed and clad in Gerard’s clothing.

Frank caught sight of a stupid outline on the wall and wandered over to it, unable to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He vaguely remembered it; during a coke party Gerard most definitely had one of his friends draw an outline of him on his bedroom wall. Frank pressed his tongue against his cheek, trying not to think about the fact that he’d never have the chance to ask Gerard why on earth he’d been compelled to do such a thing. Now, though, he was more than grateful for the moronic decision. For Frank, it meant he would have a permanent shadow of his fiancé to come back to. His hand worked faster than his brain and he used his pointer finger to gingerly trace the outline of Gerard’s silhouette. Around the arms, the curve of his shoulder, the edge of his head over and over and over, until Frank was pressed against the wall, leaning his forehead against where Gerard’s should be, hands splayed flat on the drywall. Frank missed him so painfully. He closed his eyes, his heart aching but his face dry. Even he considered it strange, but his mind was still slower than his heart, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the wall where Gerard’s head was traced. He’d give anything to have him back, to be able to caress his warm features instead of this 2D memory. 

Frank leaned against the wall silently, eyebrows pulled together in hazy grief until he managed the strength to push himself upright. He turned around and leaned back against Gerard’s outline to gaze about the rest of the room. Scarves and hats hung on the ends of hovering shelves. Books, comics, sketchbooks and unfinished loose drawings peppered the room. He chuckled a little to himself, realizing how much of an artist’s paradise it was. He wondered if Gerard would’ve been happier writing comics, if he’d never gotten into music or met the wrong people. He started to wonder if that meant he’d be better off not meeting Frank at all in the first place and worked hard to push the recurring intrusive thoughts from his mind. 

After lingering a while, he finally made for the bedroom door, unsure if he was ready to face the living room, but that’s where his feet were carrying him regardless of whether he wanted it. Frank swallowed hard, staring down at the mess of papers on the coffee table. His guitar was leaned against his amp at the neck, on the floor at the foot of the couch. The area was exactly how they’d left it after they’d all but finished writing The Black Parade. Lyrics, tabs, and notes were piled in no particular order, a mess of frantic scribbles on torn pages and two half-filled notebooks. Frank sank slowly into the couch, pulling a blanket around him as he delicately picked up a few of the sheets, wondering if the content would be any good in retrospect. 

Poring over the lyrics and chords, lips moving silently, Frank could still hear Gerard singing along to his riffs as they had brainstormed. He scoured the sheets, rapidly remembering all that they’d created together, overcome by the art. Even sober, Frank loved everything written, blown away by the lyrics Gerard had spun together, their web of ideas. He flipped first through Gerard’s notebook of scrawled thoughts, and then through his own. The pages of plans reflected each other, eagerly piggy backing until intricate details were fleshed out. The beauty about the journals was that one couldn’t be deciphered without the other.

Frank searched through everything as the time passed him by, but he couldn’t get enough. He somehow felt closer to Gerard with these pages in his possession; no count of used t-shirts could amount to the ideas that they had shared only with each other. He kept reading until he hit the empty space in his own journal. The sun was going down. He had run out of words. 

Frank was still tormented over the fact that they had never fully completed the album. They’d agreed that at  _ least _ one song was missing from the story, and Frank still believed the statement to be true. He stared at the unfinished, empty pages in his notebook, Gerard’s singing voice flooding his head with ideas. Returning to their apartment had caused a swell in his chest, like something had dislodged to allow for the beginnings of healing. He felt a renewed sense of inspiration, and his hand was already flying across the page involuntarily as lyrics poured onto the paper. He came up with the outline of the song so quickly, shocked by himself. 

Frank propped the notebook on his knees, picking up his guitar and flipping on the amp. He hummed a soft melody, plucking away at the strings and making notes above the lyrics for chord changes. He refined the song for what could’ve been minutes, or maybe it was hours. There came a point he was singing the lyrics semi-confidently despite his neighbors once again banging on the walls. He yearned to hear these words sung by Gerard.

He’d lit a few candles when there was no natural light left, and by the time Frank sat back and let silence settle in the apartment, they were burning low. He stared down at the notebook where accidental tear stains littered the page. He felt so satisfied, so proud as he read over the largely scrawled song title,  _ Disenchanted.  _ Very gently, he set down his guitar and closed the notebook. He took a deep, steadying breath, trying to corral his thoughts as he gathered the loose pages and organized them all safely into Gerard’s notebook. He considered sharing the content with someone, maybe Mikey first, but the notion was weak and Frank knew in his heart that the songs would stay hidden on his bookshelf for a long time to come. 

He blew out the candles and rose from the couch, carefully placing the journals together on a high shelf. He gazed at them with wonder, still surprised by the random motivation to write after being so unsure as to where he stood with music at all. Frank sighed and smiled a little, patting the journal. “Goodnight, G,” he whispered gently before meandering down the hallway.

Frank ignored his own room in favour of Gerard’s again, letting himself in and kicking off Gerard’s shoes. He climbed into the bed, pulling the sheets up around his chin and deeply breathing in the lingering scent. It was so calming, so familiar, that as he pushed his face into the unwashed pillow, his tired eyes eventually gave way to deep sleep without the need for an extra dose of pills.

\--

Frank was shocked albeit thankful that the gravekeeper hadn’t made rounds to kick him out yet. Finally, he had allowed himself to rehash all of his most tightly locked memories for the first time since he’d lived them. He was surprised he hadn’t permanently forgotten some. Ray had been right; he was the last one to open up after all this time. Even then, he was only ready to confess to Gerard’s gravestone, as if it could speak back. Ray sometimes inquired what was going on in Frank’s head, but he only ever focused on the present, or future when responding.

Now though, with the moon hanging low and glistening off of the few lingering tears on his cheeks, Frank had accomplished a feat that he had previously been terrified of. He’d poured his heart out entirely to the black granite, the picture he’d painted of the aftermath feeling like gravel in his mouth. Frank wiped his cheeks and drew a long breath, closing his swollen eyes and trying desperately to reconjure the pristine image of Gerard. “I’m sorry again,” he whispered, the guilt of his disrespect towards the headstone eating at him. 

“It’s okay,” Frank’s eyes shot open upon the sound of Gerard’s voice, and he couldn’t help but gasp a little. He’d managed to do it; Frank, and no one else, could picture a red-haired man sitting cross legged in front of him, leaning back against his own headstone. “You needed to work things out,” Gerard said level headedly, loving and understanding, “I’m with you, Frankie.” he promised. 

“Yeah,” comforted, Frank smiled tiredly, drinking in what he imagined his aged Gerard would be. “It took too long,” he said softly, meaning both the process of healing from the death as well as the even longer process of speaking of it all.

“It’s your party,” Gerard leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he gazed as Frank adoringly, “So take all the time in the world.” 

Frank’s face softened. How badly he wanted to lean forward and close the space between them with a kiss was unfair. “I know I could never stomach staying long before… God, I missed you,” Frank whispered, trying to gather his thoughts, “Even after I moved back into the apartment, I was popping pills heavily for… for years,” he admitted. 

Gerard’s brows furrowed and he reached out, his hand hovering above Frank’s knee. “I missed you too,” he replied softly, encouragingly. 

“I tried to get clean. I relapsed… a lot. I eventually started writing music again. And these days, it’s the live shows that keep me sober, honestly…” Frank smiled, allowing himself some pride. He’d come a long way and been on a messy, slippery journey, but he’d managed to claw his way out and he was glad for a clear mind. “I did it, Gee, I finally said goodbye to my dear percocets. I know you would be proud of me.” 

Gerard looked at Frank with genuity, his face glad. “I  _ am _ proud of you. I’m so,  _ so _ proud of you for your recovery,” he said earnestly.

“Thank you,” Frank couldn’t stop smiling, tears welling up again, this time in gratitude, “I only wish it didn’t take so long for me to get back home.” He’d worked so damn hard to achieve and maintain sobriety.

“But you’re here now, and that’s all that matters. Today of all days, too,” Gerard pondered, “Happy anniversary,” he smiled sadly. It wasn’t the anniversary of their relationship, nor their engagement, though the latter was pretty close. 

“It’s… an anniversary, alright,” Frank chewed his smooth lip. The days of his facial piercings were long gone. He met Gerard’s gaze, feeling pain in his chest, “I can’t believe it’s been ten fuckin’ years since I’ve seen your face around here.” 

“I’m sorry I can’t be with you… I want nothing more,” Gerard said honestly, the yearning evident in his voice. “I’m… I’m sorry I couldn’t give you any real answers,” he continued. True closure was something they hadn’t addressed all day. 

Frank dropped his gaze, staring at Gerard’s matching tattoo poking out from his pant leg. He could remember it so well. “I just wish I could’ve known if what I imagine to have happened is true,” he admitted, tortured by all of the unfinished stories within their relationship. “I’m sorry I never told you about the percs,” he said guiltily, “And… a lot of other things.” It all felt so bittersweet. In some way, the fact that he had made it to a point he could face the memories felt a little like closure in itself. But God, they had left so many things up for vague interpretation. 

“I guess we’ll both only ever have half of the story, huh?” Gerard was smiling, but so dolefully, “Like the journals.” 

Frank nodded in agreement, “ _ Exactly _ like the journals.”

They petered into silence for a while, just searching one another’s faces as they held onto the moment. “Thank you for spending the day here with me. I love you, so much,” it was Gerard who broke the silence. 

“I love you too,” Frank leaned forward as he envisioned Gerard’s feathery hand stroking his jaw, “I wouldn’t miss it, not today.” 

Gerard leaned forward too, and Frank imagined the feeling of a kiss being pressed to his forehead. “Happy early birthday, Iero,” Gerard whispered, and then the image of him wisped away with Frank’s inability to focus any longer. 

Frank was alone in the Belleville graveyard, soaked in the glow of the milky way on the surprisingly still and warm October night. He felt like he’d aged a century since the sun had risen that morning. He wondered how it had ever even been a question; of course,  _ of course _ , he remembered it all.


End file.
